Widow Queen
by Kingswallow
Summary: Following the Stormcloak victory at the Battle for Solitude, Elisif is given a list of impossible demands to keep her throne. With a city recently-filled with Stormcloak soldiers and spies, she has no choice but to comply. A caged queen desperate to prove herself, she decides there is one thing more important than being High Queen: protecting Skyrim. [Eventual Ulfric/Elisif.]
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

_Many great ships were fleeing the harbor of Solitude. Once, this port was filled with ships from all over Tamriel, carrying the finest of exotic goods and bringing in new and exciting stories of adventure and mystery from the lonely corners of the world; now, it was a dying port in an abandoned kingdom._

_Recent events incited in Elisif a great interest in the comings and goings of the many ships that passed through the natural arch of her city. Haafingar__'__s port had been the epicenter of all northern nautical trade, even to the other cities along the Sea of Ghosts — it was the port of major beginnings and the catalyst of all major exchange in Skyrim. Captains would vie for spaces to dock along the harbor and fishermen had to weave in and out of the many ships at port to send out their lines. In light of recent events, it now sat neglected, lacking in deck hands and populated only by a few smaller trade and fishing vessels. The few major ships that remained would soon depart, and it would be only with a shadow of a hope that they might return._

_Sadly, there was never a time when these great ships interested Elisif more. They were massive, elegant structures that cleaved their way through the waters to their own freedom and possibilities. Elisif wished she might go with them. They fled to the south with the geese, abandoning her like everyone else._

_The barest of breezes carried the faint smell of salt to her. Biting her lip, Elisif favored a wreath of wildflowers in her spindly fingers and fought to maintain her courage._

_ '__Go to him,' she thought. 'You must. It is your duty.'_

_Her housecarl by her side, Elisif traversed the gangplank. Everyone else had long since returned or retired for the day to their dwellings. She was the only one who decided to stay. To have left with them would have felt like a betrayal. She could not say goodbye to him just yet._

_On deck was a large wooden coffin, smooth as ice and polished until it shone. It was was swaddled in bouquets, offerings, and gifts from all over Skyrim, bright in their colors and sweet in their scent. The deck was abounding with candles of all sizes, burning low but brightly against the reddening sky. Those who could not send such gifts threw handfuls of flowers from the height of the bridge, coloring the deck in a mosaic of hues and and a soft carpet of petals._

_Elisif hoped they would last. Tullius__'__s body had a long journey ahead of him: taking a ship to Cyrodiil was the long way to bring his body home, but it was the safest. It was her wish that he could be drawn by an elegant coach throughout Skyrim so that his supporters could throw flowers in his passing and wish him well onto the next life. Regardless of the outcome of the war, Tullius had many who remembered him fondly throughout Skyrim, and he deserved to be bid farewell by all of them. The journey south would carry consummate risk, however, for Tullius's body to be captured and desecrated by his adversaries; it would only be too easy for the rebels to stage a raid on land and along the roads. Elisif couldn't bear the thought._

_Unwilling to take that risk, she sought other means until a volunteer trade vessel __— __whose captain once admired the great general — offered its aid in returning Tullius's body to his homeland. With no other options, Elisif consented, although she feared that the vessel would be uncouth and the passage rough; instead, she was aboard a sturdy ship that had been given the blessings of her people and surely the gods themselves._

_ '__It's beautiful,' she had to admit. 'Even like this.'_

_Elisif held the flowers above her heart, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. She willed a prayer to the Divines. __"__Oh, General," she whispered, placing a hand on top of the coffin lid._

_She had lingered long after the rest of her court departed from the funeral ceremony; Tullius had a special meaning to her that the others couldn__'__t even begin to fathom. To her, he was more than the provincial governor or the hand of the Empire: he had been the only person to stand beside her after Torygg passed from the world. She was too well-bred to show it, but she heard the rumors: that she was the Empire's puppet, that Tullius was out to undermine Nordic interests, that the two of them would break Skyrim of its history and pride to the tune of jingling Imperial coins — worse, some darker rumors insisted still that between the two of them existed an unholy union of a sordid love affair._

_These rumors, which Falk took measures to squelch, now haunted her every step. He was unable to protect her from their words, and she was unable to protect her own heart._

_The truth was more painful than that. Tullius was her friend. The truest of friends. He had given her hope to hold onto after she had lost the most important person in the world. The true self that he hid beneath a mask of sternness and authority reminded her of her husband: strong, noble, and well-intended. Albeit grizzled and war-hardened, Tullius had a face that he showed to his confidants that gave the gift of compassion __— __something that he would never be credited for. He reassured her that everything would be made right — and she believed him. She thought he could protect her and help her pick up the pieces of her broken world. To some, General Tullius's passing would be the death of a good man and a great leader; to her, it was the death of her last hope._

_The salt in the air stung her eyes, and she laid the flower wreath upon his casket. _

_Tullius was her friend._

_Now she was alone._

"My lady, are you well?"

Raising her head from the hands massaging her temples, Elisif squinted through the candlelight and smiled up wanly at her Steward. He lingered politely in the doorway of her bedchambers. "Falk," she welcomed, her tender voice touched by strain.

Falk nodded and muttered a word of dismissal to the guard clad in blue standing watch outside her door. "Headaches again, my lady?" he asked, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

Noting the calming murmur of music, Falk darted a quick glance to the far corner of the room. The Bard's College's master vocalist was seated opposite them, her fingers stroking the strings of a great lute and humming a gentle backdrop to the dim room.

Pantea's eyes alighted at Falk's arrival before lowering demurely back to her instrument, unseeing, unhearing, and most importantly, uninterested. As a long-enjoyed guest of the court, discretion was of the utmost importance in retaining such trust and she extended that same respect of privacy to Elisif as she commonly had to her late husband, who once called on her frequently. She continued to play as if she were the only one in the room.

Satisfied, Falk took a seat nearby where his Jarl reclined, many letters and scrolls tucked under his arm.

Elisif dignified Falk's question with an assenting noise, dipping her hands into a washbasin of warm water beside her chair and kneading her knuckles into her temples. Despite her discomfort, she warmed up to his companionship. "Did you close court?"

"After you retired to your room, Erikur complained about the 'propriety' involved in closing court early so often in recent days, particularly during a time of hardship such as this, but he and the other Thanes and nobles were escorted out all the same." Falk gesticulated with edging frustration, but he hid it well. Or so he thought. Elisif suspected there was more to it than that — that Falk had always tried to hide the ribaldry of court from her, the nasty details, as though he thought her too fragile to handle it. It was all in good nature, she knew, but given current circumstances she wasn't in the temper to tolerate it.

She wanted to ask what Erikur had said — _all _of it — but she was distracted when her temples throbbed in earnest. Pressing her fingertips into her skull, she rode out the pain until it was subdued. When she opened her eyes again she noticed the large stack of stationary atop the table. She gestured to it in inquiry.

Falk sighed, seemingly unwilling to proceed. But his hands were tied, given the spate of correspondence. He nudged the disarray on the table into a stack. "Forgive me, my Jarl, but there are some matters we need to review…"

"No, no," she shoo'd his concerns away. A quick glance out the window confirmed many hours left in the day. "I will be fine. I just needed a more comfortable chair, and more pleasant company."

They both shared a quick smile, but it was lost as soon as Falk spoke again. "Well, as you know," he continued with a wry frown, "there is this list of demands."

With the poise inherent to her station, Elisif drew herself up until her back was straight and her chin was high. She took from Falk's hands an envelope with a broken wax seal, the smallest of the letters but the most significant. She eased the envelope from the letter and handled it without a wrinkle.

"Shall we go over them again?" he asked.

She ran her thumb over the paper. She knew the terms by heart — there were four of them in number. This, however, was the only piece of correspondence that had actually been written in Ulfric's own hand. Similar papers were coming in every day, although mostly she was was inundated by requests, prompts, and demands being communicated from him through his Steward or his housecarl.

_The High-King-To-Be doesn__'__t have the time to address me personally, _she pursued her lips, but she didn't dare voice her thoughts aloud. None of the men in her castle belonged to her, and she was always afraid of what they might hear. Her own men were gone. The luxury of free speech was taken from her, and it made it difficult to relax in anyone's presence for fear that someone was constantly listening from outside her door.

Elisif shook her head and tried to focus her attention on the matter at hand - without many of her own opinions included. She set the letter aside and folded her hands in her lap. She didn't need it. Her memory, at least, was superb.

"Starting from the top?" she suggested. "Well, the first order of business is to reinstall Talos worship at the Temple of the Divines."

Falk nodded. "Jarl Ulfric made it clear his first order of business was to give the worship of Talos back to the people of Haafingar."

Elisif hid a delicate snort with a not-so-delicate inward curse. "I remember. He mounted the shrine on the alter himself before the city finished burning from the siege. I should hope this qualifies as—wait, what more?"

A new stack of papers were pushed her way. "This came in two days ago. While Jarl Ulfric feels as though the restoration of Talos's statue is a good start, he wants the high priest and priestesses to be punished for their sacrilege of our people's idols. Satisfying the first demand isn't enough vindication, apparently. The acolyte at the temple in Windhelm, the…" Falk referred to a particular letter. "… priestess Jora believes that our own priests require re-education on matters of the Divines and is intent on travelling here within a week. Jarl Ulfric has given her leave from her duties at the Temple - her husband Lortheim taking over in her absence - and has instructed our holy men to provide a space for the itinerant priestess, who considers it her sacred duty to maintain residence in the Temple until such a time as the pantheon is considered whole again."

Elisif's hand fluttered near her breast. "I noticed the altars undergoing restoration at the Temple."

"My lady…" Falk added, "With one of Windhelm's priestesses here, it is doubtless she will send word back to Ulfric concerning affairs of the city. She is most likely a spy."

The growing shadows of the shortening day depressed the atmosphere in the room. She glanced at her reflection in a nearby mirror and noticed how gaunt her face had grown. In that moment she thought of Torygg and clenched the pendant in her hand. _If only my husband could see me now. _

As with many Nordic Jarls, Elisif's spiritual beliefs concerning Talos were a source of speculation, rumor, and gossip, even more so due to her relationship with the Empire and proximity to the Thalmor's base of operations in the province. More than the other Jarls, her reputation had to be pristine. She had to live up to the White-Gold Concordat down to the most subtle of wording and believe it with all her heart — or be very convincing in her charade thereof. Perhaps it was easier for her because she was born after the resolution of the Great War; after all, she had been born into an obliging family and grew up during an era where Talos was a repressed idol. To breakaway from Talos was not as painful a separation for her as it was for others. It was not out of malice or any personal deficiency: it was simply a factor of time.

In contrast, Torygg prayed for the day that the ban of Talos worship would be rescinded. He was barely a man at the time of the war, and as a royal heir, he was instructed in all manner of history, military and otherwise, statesmanship, and piety. Talos, although his military strategy outdated, was still regularly studied by lords and kings all over Tamriel, and his legacy was more closely-regarded in Skyrim than even Cyrodiil. Torygg had always been devoted to the hero-god of his people, even though worship had been furtive for half his life. He believed he was as close to Him as the other divines. The night before their wedding, Torygg came to her: he felt to be wed without the blessing of Talos sacrilegious and he had given her a golden Amulet of Talos to be sewn clandestinely into the bodice of her wedding gown. He had one to match, also hidden in the many layers of his nuptial clothing. As they said their vows the following day in the Temple of Divines, Torygg found peace that all of the gods were represented, even if one of the alcoves was empty.

For her husband's sake, if nothing else, Elisif wanted to see Talos restored to his former reverence. She gave the pendant a hard squeeze. _Still_… To have Him returned at Ulfric's hands felt like blasphemy — he was using Talos as a symbol of war, not as the beloved figure Torygg held close to his heart. And if this Jora's intent was espionage…

It would all break Torygg's heart. It certainly broke hers.

Settling her thoughts, Elisif waited for a moment before prompting his advice further with an, "And? What course of action should I take?"

"With all due respect, my Jarl, that would be a good place to start," he pointed to her chest.

Freezing, Elisif realized that she had been toying with the necklace hanging just above her heart. It was becoming a nervous habit; she didn't even realize when she did it. Taking it into her palm, she tilted its face until it caught the waning light. It was crafted in traditional style, in keeping with the ancient jewelry worn by Nordic queens of old. The gold chain was delicate but the face was heavy, and it was studded with flawless diamonds. It was among one of the many pieces of royal jewelry she owned, and one that Torygg had given to her after they married.

"The priestess of Talos will doubtless preach humility and monitor the things you say, the things you do, and the things you wear. I'm afraid that you must be doubly careful in these times about how you present yourself, my Jarl." He paused. "And even if Jora's true purpose here in Solitude is merely spiritual, it will not hurt to exercise caution."

Elisif squeezed her necklace again for comfort. "Oh." The necklace slipped out of her fingers and fell heavy over her heart. "Oh I see. Yes, of course." She undid the clasp at the back and replaced it in her jewelry box.

"I have already sent word to Temple, and a space has been prepared for our guest. You needn't worry yourself on the arrangements, although… it may not hurt to spend more time at the temple upon her arrival."

She nodded, seeing the sense there. "Yes… of course, you are right."

Falk loosened the letter from her hands, glancing at it. He took a steadying breath.

"This next demand is…"

"—a public apology to the family of the executed gate guard Roggvir, a formal pardon from the throne of Haafingar, and payment of compensation for the family's loss and torment."

This one stung; while all the demands on the list rang true of conqueror's entitlement, this one was purely spiteful in nature. She went to grab at her necklace again and felt its absence, so she settled for clenching her hands together in her lap.

"Tomorrow," she acquiesced. "Tomorrow is the scheduled date."

Falk made such a disagreeable noise that Pantea, for the moment, stopped playing in consternation. She realized her mistake when he turned to look at her and then dutifully returned to her instrument.

"He's _trying _to humiliate you, my Jarl." His grip increased such that the paper crinkled violently up the center and spider-webbed across the page.

Elisif shot out to stay his hand, gentling his grasp and smoothing the paper herself. She felt very conscious of her position and felt unease wash over her. Her new household guard might not be listening to Falk, but they were certainly listening to _her_, and she didn't want to take any chances.

"I am prepared," she said lowly, sending him a meaningful glance.

This didn't seem to settle Falk peaceably; in fact, the look on his face indicated that discussion on this matter wasn't over. A glimmer of an idea smoldered in his eyes, and he eased the tension in his jaw. "Very well," he began, wiping his face clean of emotion. "The arrangements have already been made, after all. Now…

"This next stipulation is unique from the others in the sense that it prevails inaction…" He consulted the parchment. "Given the outcome of the civil war, Haafingar is hereby banned from building its own standing army. We cannot raise an army even to ensure the Hold is defensible. Nevertheless, like all the other Holds, we are expected to conscript a quota of able-bodied warriors to the Stormcloak force to replenish their numbers; however, unlike the other holds, the men we raise are to be sent to our neighbor, Hjaalmarch, for training and stationing. We keep none for ourselves."

Elisif was very aware of that. She tried not to think too deeply on the matter; she didn't need another headache.

"How are we doing on recruiting?" she ventured.

Falk gave her a flat look and Elisif grimaced.

"I worried that was the case."

_Troublesome_, she grit her teeth. _Now that the Empire is gone, we have no real force of our own…_Without them, there was no real program dedicated to finding reliable young men and turning them into warriors outside of the City Guard. Given the recent war and the overwhelming criticism for Ulfric in Hjaalmarch, finding enlistments willing to put aside their lives to join Ulfric's cause would be difficult.

Not that she wanted to supply her new conqueror with the men he would require in order to fracture the peace Skyrim had worked so hard to achieve, but she had very little choice. Ulfric knew that — he had to. Given that a portion of his army was stationed in her city solely to make sure she was compliant and miserable, he could ask anything of her that he wanted.

Falk's steady voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"I will find a way to meet this demand," he assured. "Bryling and I have agreed that we need a strategy, and that's her main focus at the moment. I am to meet with her tomorrow morning to discuss her ideas. Solitude will pay its debts, even just to keep itself in the hands of its rightful ruler."

"Good," she replied, relieved. Falk always had a way of gaining control over situations, even impossible ones. It was one of the reasons he was the Steward and a close friend. She was concerned that she would have to take this matter in hand, and since she had always relied on Tullius to handle military matters, she had no idea how to go about recruitment. She trusted Falk and her Thane to address this need, since Falk worked closely with Captain Aldis and Bryling was an accomplished warrior, and had the respect of many throughout the Hold.

With that matter resolved — for her, anyways — Elisif's relief did not last long, as she knew the next demand was riding shortly on the coattails of the last.

"There is one last matter."

_There it is. _She was ready for it, she had heard it before, but she still had to take a deep breath to calm herself before it came.

"In penance of Haafingar's support of the Empire in the civil war and their resultant actions, the throne of Solitude is required to pay, in reparations to the victor's sovereign, a sum of… well…"

Elisif held up her hand. "Yes, I recall. I don't need to be told that figure again."

Hearing the last demand out loud was like waving a bit of garbage underneath her nose; Elisif and Falk screwed their faces up in matching expressions of disgust. Her court would have to attack these issues one by one, otherwise the sum of Ulfric's expectations would surely overwhelm them. Even in the history of war, Ulfric's demands were extravagant and vindictive—quietly, she thought they were nearly as disagreeable as the treaty that started this whole rebellion. They were very clumsy in hiding their intent. They were bold. They were presumptuously-worded. They were meant to frustrate Solitude so that it could not regain its strength, punitive rather than peaceful.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "At least it's concise."

'Concise' wasn't the word that Falk would have used, but it was perhaps the most polite. Solitude was going to be bled dry before this business was over, and the rest of Skyrim would soon be condemned if Ulfric went through with his destructive ambition.

"I've been doing my best to generate ideas concerning how we will erase this debt," he groused, "but this is beyond our ability to pay, and I do not have complete access to the treasury of Solitude. Although I have not received a deadline, it clear that Ulfric will not be willing to wait indefinitely for his payment. Clearly incurrence of this debt is meant to sanction our fiscal flexibility, but Ulfric is also hurting from the war. Of this we can have no doubt. He needs the money to rebuild, acquire weapons and supplies, and pay his army — which has since grown exponentially after his recent conquests. And it's my assumption that he's going to want it sooner rather than later.

"Now, to handle this matter, I would need your permission to have unlimited access to the treasury. During the reign of Torygg's father, High King Istlod needed to grow his power in order to keep his kingdom together. He had greater access to funds, law, and military strength than any other High King in recent history. As a result, the only person who can access treasury for matters of this grandeur is the one seated on the throne of Solitude. Now that Torygg is dead," he said slowly, "that person is you, my Lady."

Slowly this news sunk in. It was true that Falk had been handling her affairs, but nothing had required coin of this nature before. She never had to make any decisions of this magnitude.

Elisif pressed her lips together tightly in thought. She hadn't noticed it before, but Falk was beginning to look a bit… wan and dark under the eyes. She had attributed it to the candlelight, but now she was not so sure. Suddenly, Elisif had to wonder how many times her friend had worked through the nights to make arrangements, how full his schedule was making appointments to accommodate their normal obligations and the added ones following the war, and how he was always, without fail, able to make just enough time for her to soothe her fears and give her the advice she desperately needed.

Taking the paper from Falk's hands, she mustered a smile to put him at ease.

"Let me handle this," she offered, "right now, you focus on meeting Ulfric's third demand."

Falk's haggard eyes widened at this — it was unprecedented in their relationship. "My—my Jarl, are you certain about this?"

"Yes," she answered, although with a slight waver in confidence.

He appraised her with eyes on the verge of alarm. "With all due respect, my lady, this task is staggering, even for those of us with lengthy careers in the court. I do not think that it can be undertaken alone. Consider that your experience—"

"I am aware of what's been said about my age and inexperience!" she interjected, feeling her pulse jump. She was used to hearing such things out of the mouths of strangers, but she was _not _going to hear it from the man she called friend — especially not one she just offered to help. As soon as her anger spiked, the sudden shock in her friend's eyes sedated her again. Cheeks coloring hotly, she amended gently, "I will come to you with questions and assistance should I need it."

Falk reservations still showed clearly in his eyes, and Elisif's confidence wavered. "_Please._"

With a sigh, her Steward resigned. "By your will, my Jarl." Having covered the fourth and final demand, he let himself go mute.

In thanks, Elisif slunk back into her chair with a restrained huff of gratitude, finally allowing herself to relax. Conversation died from the room, allowing the sweet allure of the quiet music to remedy the chill in the room. They held their silent companionship together for a time, loosening the cork of a cooler of wine and drinking the tension away. Even with the fine spirits, fine company, and fine music, a darkness had drawn itself over Solitude. Not even the finest amenities the world had to offer could chase off the trials that were to come and the tenuous hold they had on a peace soon to be broken.

Suddenly Falk shot to his feet and collected a majority of the papers on the table, leaving a copy of the demands and the rest of the wine. "Thank you for your time, Jarl. Our conference has yielded beneficial headway that I'm sure will go over well with the court tomorrow. I need to arrange a few things for my meeting with Bryling in the morning, as well as prepare documents concerning our progress meeting these demands."

Elisif set her delicate glass down as well, taking up her share of paperwork. "Yes, of course."

"We will discuss this topic more at a later time." Falk paused in the doorway, his fingertips upon the handle. "Try to get some rest, my Lady," he added kindly. Then he was gone.

Slumping back into her chair, Elisif glanced across the room, the warm sheets and soft pillows seducing her to the soft melody of Pantea's lute. But with a heady rush she realized the enormity of the task that was now upon her, and sleep fell in importance. Her stomach joined her head in an anxious spin, and took an unsteady look at the list. She peered at the final lines, hoping there might be some answers there. The task she was to undertake rang bells in her mind, and she tried to focus through the noise.

Discarding the list — she had it memorized, anyway — she turned her thoughts toward the more immediate matter at hand: tomorrow's speech.

A written copy of it was among her desk's stationary, but that too she had memorized. She felt nudged to look it over a final time, but she couldn't invoke the will to do so, even thought it would be one of the most difficult speeches she would have to deliver. Falk's advice suddenly looked very appealing, if unrealistic.

With a groan, Elisif sought comfort in her glass of wine.

Sleep would be a difficult task.

EDIT: It's been nearly two years since this chapter was posted, and it was riddled with mistakes. Now that I am picking up this story again, I cleaned it up a bit to make it more readable. Please offer your feedback in the review section! I am always eager to hear from those reading my stories, and welcome constructive criticism as well as any opinions you have. Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

_The city was burning._

_Elisif sat straight-backed in her throne, her shoulders back and her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her Thanes and ladies-in-waiting were all huddled at her feet upon silken pillows thrown down for their comfort when the news had arrived: Ulfric's army was marching on Solitude's front gate. They prattled on in nervousness and the room was alive with the inextricable dyad of despair and hope. For all of her righteous fury, Elisif could feel her body jittering along with the groans and noises of the battle outside. She thought that she had been prepared for anything, but war had been a storm that had taken everything from her: her husband, her allies, and her confidence. The noises of the raging tide rose and swelled outside her door, and wondered finally if she, too, would be swept away in its fury. _

_Long before the Empire advised her to pursue her husband's throne, Elisif knew full-well this was never meant to be her destiny. Like many women of her station, she was trained to know when to wile and impress, and when to shrink and digress; matters of state and war were things that were left to the husband she was supposed to attract. Elisif was never prepared for all of this: for being Jarl, for being a queen, for times of war. Yet, she accepted. The most important thing for a lady to learn was she was to always stand by her husband, in both life and in the honor of his memory — and it if meant starting a war to catch his killer, and if it meant following him into death, then that was her duty as a lady, her own fears aside. As the Jarl's wife, she was trained to sit and preen, so she sat, with perfect posture, praying that the battle would be won and that her courtiers did not see her shake with fear. _

_Working to uphold the thinly-bound peace in the room, Bryling hushed the chattering girls into a guilty silence and took one of Elisif's delicate hands in hers. She sat with a composure unusual for her age, but her hand still trembled in her Thane's grip._

_Kneeling by Elisif's side, the older woman gave her hand a squeeze. "Should the time come when any men but our own walk through the front door," she promised lowly, so the others would not hear, "I will draw my sword in your defense."_

_A contingent of men splintered from the City Guard fanned across the courtroom in a protective semi-circle, swords drawn and the blood-red shields of Solitude poised in the air, like a pack of wolves backed into a corner, snapping and snarling and ready to attack._

_"__No," Elisif whispered, squeezing back. She pleaded her with a look. "I cannot lose you."_

_Bryling's lips pressed together in dissent, but her reprisal was uprooted before it even began when a loud explosion send a wail of terror rippling through her ladies-in-waiting._

_Taken aback, Elisif breathed a "What was _that_?" to her warrior-Thane._

_Bryling's eyes narrowed, her focused eyes intent on the front gates. "Trebuchets, my Jarl," she answered after a long moment's pause, her hand ghosting over the hilt of her sword. "They've been wearing down the city for a while, now. One must have landed nearby."_

_They waited out the attack until the sounds of steel and shouting stopped. For a moment Elisif allowed herself to hope. Then, all too quickly, a deafening knocking reverberated through the palace._

_The pressure on Elisif's hand increased, and Bryling shut her eyes. "And that is a battering ram."_

_Terror forced Elisif's throat shut. They were trying to break through their barricade. As the ram assaulted the front doors of the castle, the women of her court squalled with each strike, and she worked the face of her pendant in her fingers, wishing, hoping, praying, holding out on a shred of faith that, somehow, it was Tullius knocking at her door to tell them the battle had been won. With a desperate squeeze, Elisif bowed her head and screwed her eyes shut._

_'__Let him tell me of the resilience of our men,' she prayed. 'Let him tell me of the justice in an unrighteous cause brought down. Let him show that the gods are just to the patient and merciless to the evil. Let—' _

_Then, the unmistakable noise of snapping wood stalled her breath, and a great roar poured into through the doors._

_Elisif's heart shattered at the sight of blue. It happened so quickly she didn't have time to think. Her guard hesitated to get a look at the intruders, but that was long enough. As soon as the rebels mounted the stairs they flung themselves at her men with a deafening cry and the shriek of steel. Blood turned hot by temper was cooled as it stained the marble floors and men grunted with their dying breaths._

_A Stormcloak broke through the skirmish and flung himself at her and her court. A guard threw himself in front of her with his sword at the ready, but he was rendered to the ground with a sickening bash of a warhammer. His helmet caved and clattered to the ground, its owner a corpse. With a scream, Elisif stared into the man's fading eyes and fell to her knees._

_"__My Jarl—!"_

_Tears streaking down her face, Elisif sobbed in fear for the last few men defending her against the Stormcloak onslaught. She pulled Bryling to her before she could use her sword, yanking her behind her, desperately hoping they wouldn't take her naked blade as a threat._

_"__Stop!" she cried, shooting to her feet. "Just stop!"_

_Her voice was drowned in the chaos of the fight. Her men were butchered by cold steel and thrown to ground, broken. Hugging her Thane to her side, Elisif tried to keep her handmaidens behind her from the murderers in her hall._

_A man armored as a Stormcloak Officer wiped the sticky gore from the blunt end of his warhammer and stepped forward, his armor marking him as one of Galmar's men. With a gruff laugh he released cheers from his men with a, "Good work, boys!" The Officer glanced around at the garden of corpses he'd sown before settling his pleased gaze on her._

_Sheathing his weapon, the man ordered curtly, "Jarl Elisif, you are hereby summoned by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak to appear at the courtyard of Castle Dour in recognition of his victory here."_

_A steel hand reached into her chest and squeezed so hard she couldn't respond, even as the man was ripping her from Bryling's embrace. Three men were required to subdue her Thane as she kicked and hollered after her. Shaking like a leaf, Elisif could not help but cringe as Galmar's man gripped her tightly by the arm and led her away. She hoped he would not feel it. He smelled of blood and sweat and his harsh eyes diminished her with a glance._

_"__Follow me."_

Elisif glanced around the bustling streets with anxious knots in her stomach. Even among the people she could see them: men patrolling in blue everywhere, and they all had foreign faces. A force of Stormcloaks now policing the streets of Solitude, but it didn't make her feel any safer.

_They're all Galmar's men, _she thought. _And they're here for a reason._

Ulfric likely thought that preventing her from raising her own army was restitution for Solitude's actions in the rebellion. This was the ostensible purpose to the third requirement of his demands, but it had another meaning. It was galling, of course, as a deliberate move to keep her and her people weak, but the full damage of the demand became rapidly apparent to her following the final battle: unable to appoint a new Guard Captain following Aldis's death in battle, Solitude could no longer recruit and train men for the Hold's protection — including men for her own household guard. This not only weakened Haafingar's military standing amongst the other Holds, but also made it difficult for the people to protect their very homes and businesses. In an act of supposed charity, Windhelm sent some of its own forces to supplement her few remaining men of the City Guard to patrol the streets, but Elisif was sure that they all had their ears to the wall, as well.

The demand was an outrage; however, with the Stormcloaks in her city, Ulfric ensured that it was a demand she would have to swallow.

Elisif swayed even closer to her Housecarl, a burly Nord who made up for his looks with brute strength and infallible loyalty. He towered over her and shaded her from prying gazes, alert and constantly scanning the people around her. The attentiveness of the force that guarded the city did nothing to weaken his resolve; in fact, it likely heightened his own.

Above the chatter Elisif heard her name being called. She turned and greeted Falk with a great sigh of relief.

"My Lady," he joined, flanking his Jarl's other side. "Here," he slipped something into her hand. "Wear it so it shows."

Elisif considered it in her hands. An Amulet of Talos. It was fashioned finely into a miniature axe, distinguished only from other amulets by its casting in pure gold, rather than bronze. With a hitch in her breath, she realized that it was the one that Torygg had clandestinely given her on the eve of their wedding night.

"You will be attending the Temple today, my lady," Falk continued with a cursory glance at the mounting crowd. "The priestess Jora has not yet arrived, but make sure the acolytes have everything in preparation for when she does. I need you to spend the afternoon there. Pray, speak with the priests, but above all, stay there until I come for you. Bolgeir, as usual, will accompany you."

Grabbing the face of the amulet in her hand, Elisif startled. "Temple?" she hesitated. "You know that today is the day I am scheduled to deliver a speech to Roggvir's family!"

Falk took a look over her head before focusing her attention with a gentle squeeze of her shoulders. "I decided that you shall not be delivering the speech today."

"What? I have already made all the preparations—"

"Please, my Jarl," Falk implored. He gave her shoulder another squeeze. "I never said that there would not be a speech — only that _you _would not be the one giving it. I have made a copy of your written draft and will deliver it myself. Bolgeir and I have already discussed—" Elisif shot her housecarl a look, "—that it would be safer for you to spend your time at the Temple of Divines while this takes place. There is always more work to be done."

For a moment, Elisif felt exasperation creeping into her mood. She narrowed her eyes at her housecarl and asked, "Bolgeir, is this true?"

The burly Nord seemed uncomfortable to be under the scrutiny of the woman he was sworn to protect, but he could not entirely summon the contrition necessary to regret his actions. "I'm sorry, my lady," he began, if only as a courtesy, "but please, listen to the Steward. We have your best interests at heart. Allow me to escort you to the Temple for the rest of the afternoon."

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she looked between the anxious expressions of both her Steward and her housecarl. In moments the look of pure concern wore away her annoyance, and she relinquished her will with a sigh.

"All right," she consented, slipping the amulet over her head. "I will spend my afternoon in the contemplation of the gods. Let me know as soon as you have returned to the palace."

Falk inclined his head in a soft bow. "I will, my Jarl. Thank you."

Placing her hand on his arm, Bolgeir wheeled his delicate Jarl away from the Wells District and towards the high-rise incline up to the city's temple. As she ascended the climb she turned back to glance at her Steward one last time.

"Falk, be careful."

—

"Falk."

A warm hand creeped through the bedsheets to touch his shoulder gently.

"Falk," she murmured again with a small shake, and this time it penetrated his dreamless sleep. Stirring softly, he rolled over to plant a kiss on his bedmate's forehead, his free arm wrapping around her naked waist and pulling her closer.

"Love, it's morning. We must wake and prepare for court."

A jolt galvanized him into a sitting position, and his lover squeaked as she tumbled from his embrace. "Gods damn," he cursed, fumbling for the clothes that he had tossed so carelessly around the room the night before.

Easing herself into an upright position on her elbows, Bryling watched him hasten to dress. "We have not slept so late that we will not arrive on time, Falk. Nor did we neglect last night's affairs in lieu of… other matters. What's the matter?"

"I'm not going to court today."

"No?"

"No."

Collecting herself from sleep, she ran hand through her sleep-rumpled hair to tame it, which was usually held back in a neat and tidy braid. "Why not?"

"Today is the day that Elisif is supposed to carry out one of Ulfric's demands, by apologizing publicly to the family of the traitor Roggvir, granting him a posthumous pardon, and offering reparations to his family. I caught wind from some of my sources after my meeting with Elisif last night that this is going to turn into a huge affair: crowds, Stormcloaks, and all the rest. I am concerned that the sensitive nature of the event could easily turn dangerous for her…"

"…so you're going to give the speech in her place," Bryling surmised, her brow furrowing. "Falk, I love our Jarl as much as you do, and I would do anything to protect her, but this is not your burden to bear. You have too many projects on your hands as it is, and it's possible that the Stormcloak Guard would do less to protect you than they would Elisif."

"And it's also possible that this event is the perfect opportunity for her enemies to target her. Ulfric may be a bully, but he's cleverer than most give him credit for: today is the anniversary of Roggvir's death, and the whole of Haafingar knows it. People tend to react in extremes where anniversaries are involved, and I can't risk Elisif's safety when the matter is entirely my fault."

"Falk—"

"It is my fault, Bryling," he rounded on her, having found most of his clothes. His voice was strained, and it pained her to see him so haggard. "It was Aldis and I that decided upon the execution. She was too busy grieving her husband's death, and she has never favored execution as a means of punishment. That's why she didn't attend, and why Aldis saw it through instead."

Bryling sighed, gathering some of the sheets around her shoulders as she shuffled to his side of the bed. She placed both hands on his upper arms and rested a head on his shoulder, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck.

"Your sense of honor and responsibility are two of the many things I love about you, Falk," she soothed. "But you don't have to do this. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault, except Ulfric's."

Falk's upset tempered as he wrapped his arms around Bryling. "I am her Steward, Bryling. What more reason than that do I need to protect her?"

He could feel another sigh pass over his collarbone. She waited a long moment that they held together in silent mourning. "We talked about this before, you know," she said softly. "Back before the battle, before the war. We've had to keep our love a secret from the court for years, and you said that you would be glad to resign your position as Steward once the war ended so that we could be together."

"I know." Falk rubbed a tender hand across her back. "I know I said that, and it was a day that I had been looking forward to. But I thought we would prevail. I am tired of it all, but Elisif needs me now more than ever. She doesn't have the strength to rule on her own, and I am the only one standing between her, Ulfric, Erikur, and the rest of the world. I cannot stop loving you, but I also I cannot resign. She needs someone to stand by her, and there are few of us willing to do that."

Bryling disentangled herself from their embrace, and Falk thought to see sadness or anger there, but instead he only saw her gentleness and love.

"I know," she said. "I know you can't resign, as much as it would make us both happy. We both wished that things could have ended differently, but we will continue playing this game as long as we have to. She does need you. And she needs me, too. I will also stand beside her and protect her, for as long as it takes for the air to settle. And I'll protect you, too," she teased with a smile.

Falk laughed, and in the sanctuary of her bedroom it rang clear. "Few men can say they are so fortunate."

"Would you like me to attend the speech with you?"

"As lucky as I would be to have your sword by my side, it would probably be best for you to return to court as usual. You will be needed there. I shall come and find you as soon as I can, safe and unharmed."

They met with a kiss than lingered, even after it was over. Falk splashed his face with the water of the nearby basin, and Bryling helped to straighten the creases in his clothes.

In the reflective surface of a jeweled pitcher he took in the two of their forms, together, something only for their eyes. It was a sacrifice that they would have to make, for as long as this road stretched out before them, but neither he nor she were strangers to sacrifice, as this had not been the first, and surely it would not be the last.

—

The slovenly hunter kills more than what it needs to eat at a time, and after taking its fill it leaves the rest of the carcass to the elements. It does not take long for the vultures to appear. In the case of war, Falk assumed this was the same thing.

Few animals, however, kill more than what they need; as far as Falk could tell, men were the only ones who did anything in excess.

With a poorly-hid look of disgust, Falk took in the day's excitement of the Wells District. His informants had been correct, and he was glad that he had sent Elisif away to the safety of the Temple. It was the city's commercial center, always bustling with people, but today's streets were bloated, exactly as he feared. There was great movement towards the main gates of the city where a gathering was forming before the platform where Roggvir had been executed, and the same platform where a pulpit was erected for the formal speech. The vultures sensed a kill, and were now moving in to watch. No doubt there were many who were interested in seeing the "Widow Queen," as some had taken to calling her, brought low and humiliated. Even in her own city where her support was strongest, the people had come to see their Jarl brought low. Falk wondered if some had traveled a great distance to see this display of public humiliation, or if the people of Solitude had succumbed to human nature, and turned on her in her weakness.

Falk didn't know what would happen, and that was what concerned him. But it was his honor and duty to protect his Jarl from such things, and if taking his Jarl's place in the fire meant pilfering the vultures of their intended meal, then he was happy to provide himself as an offering in her stead.

He was her Steward, after all.

After surveying the crowd, Falk noted a handful of blue spots standing out in the crowd, which he supposed were a few Stormcloaks interested in seeing Elisif's humbling - although as far as he knew, the entirety of the guard should have been at their posts for this public event. Under his breath he cursed the sloppiness of this entire sideshow.

With a gesture, he motioned forth the men he had rallied from the old guard's section of Castle Dour. These were not Elisif's household guard, and although they wore the blue garments of their new sovereign, he knew them each personally, as they had served in the City Guard well before Ulfric's invasion and had been among the few that survived the Battle for Solitude. They were Aldis's old men, and he trusted them with his life as he ever had.

"We will make our way through the crowd to the platform," Falk instructed. "The Stormcloaks were supposed to keep the crowds at bay, but they are either eager to make us struggle or there are simply more people than anticipated for them to organize our passage. Possibly both. I see a few straggling soldiers in the crowd in dereliction of their duty, so be prepared for anything. Keep your eyes open, men."

The small guard, six men, nodded their heads, flanking the Steward and scanning the crowd.

The men were equipped with spears whose points towered over a grown man's head, and with one in each of their hands they were used as staves to part the energized crowd and work to the front, where a handful of soldiers awaited their arrival on the landing to the platform. Stormcloaks lined the walls surrounding the platform, making it clear: Ulfric was watching.

After the laborious task of breaking through the crowd, Falk and his men were stopped halfway up the stairs as a tall figure loomed in front of him.

"Where is the Jarl?"

Istar Cairn-Breaker was one of Galmar's chief officers responsible for the rebel camp hidden in Haafingar during the war. He was big and muscled, even for a Nord, and his left eye was white with blindness that he used to unnerve the people he stared down. Like many of Ulfric's supporters, his hair long, and his beard was kept in one of the old styles of the ancient Nords, full grown and cinched halfway down its length with a section of his own hair. Even with one eye, he had a dangerous presence that showed no weakness. He was a seasoned fighter, and it was no accident that he was placed in the Stormcloak's Haafingar camp, closest to peril during the war, and it was also no accident that he now acted as Galmar's right hand in Castle Dour, taking on the late Aldis's duties as well as enforcing the Stormcloak's will in the Hold.

Galmar held him in high esteem. And Falk seethed down to his bones. He reminded him very much of a bear, maw gaping, predatory, ready to attack and leave them to the vultures.

Falk lifted his chin, reminding himself that this was why he came - instead of Elisif.

"Where are all of your men?" he responded in kind. "I see a few in the crowds, rather than manning the walls as they should be. Is this your first time organizing a protection detail, Officer?"

Falk was at the receiving end of that blood-chilling stare just then.

"You must be mistaken, Steward. All of my men are in place, as they should be." Falk didn't believe him. "I cannot say the same for you, however. I will only ask you one more time: Where is the Jarl? "

Falk didn't flinch. Smoothly, with the expert control of an experienced courtier, he demurred, "My Lady is indisposed today. The anniversary of Roggvir's wrongful execution troubles her greatly, and she seeks council and forgiveness with the Divines. She is at Temple today to seek their guidance."

Istar's eyes narrowed into pinpoints, and his hands clenched and unclenched reflexively, as if he were preparing to draw the massive warhammer across his back.

"Mind yourself, Steward. I have always found that pretty speech is often used as a substitute for honesty. Your debt must be paid. You and your Jarl will not escape this."

"I understand very well the specific nature of our debts," Falk countered, lowering his voice. "And they will be paid. Here, today. I stand in my Jarl's place to atone for Roggvir's death, and I am acting on her behalf. One of her attendants has the chest of gold prepared to be delivered to their residence in privacy after I offer an official pardon and deliver the public apology."

"Jarl Elisif is the one who is supposed atone for these sins," Istar insisted.

"She is. With every single one of the Nines Divines, I assure you. Or would you trespass on their convening to bring her here yourself?"

Falk retrieved papers and a ring from the sleeve of his fine tunic. "I have here with me her own print and seal. Or do I need to remind you that here in Skyrim, when I hold her mark, I act on her authority, and these words that I bring are as good as those passing from her own lips?"

As the two spoke, stalled into place halfway up the steps, the crowd that already pressed against the walls of the platform swelled with chatter and interest, all eyes on the clear argument taking place and all ears straining through the cacophony to hear the lowered voices. The crowd was the powder keg that Falk feared it would be, and even Istar broke their locked gaze to see that it was looming closer to ignition the longer they debated.

Istar's eyes investigated the crowd for only a moment, and when they returned they were as frosty and authoritative as ever. "Far be it from I to challenge the gods, Steward, but Ulfric might have something to say on whether or not your words are worth as much as hers."

In concession, he shuffled heavily to the side to let Falk and his retinue pass, although as Falk edged around the burly man to approach the platform, Istar seized him by one arm so tightly that he had to rise onto his toes to remain on the ground. A threat ghosted over his ear.

"Take care to provide nearly as good a performance as your puppet Jarl, Steward. In case you haven't noticed, my men are watching." Istar's eyes flickered to the masses before them. "As is Roggvir's family."

When Falk's heels touched the ground once more and Galmar's officer rejoined his men lining the interior walls, he steadied himself with a breath and took his place at the platform.

The stonework beneath his feet was no doubt where the headsman's block was placed for the public execution. Falk resisted the temptation to look down, as he knew full-well that the the ancient stones had been scrubbed free of any stain. This was a demonstration of Ulfric's fancies of romance and poetic justice to be seen before gods and men, and his message was clear. In his most private of thoughts, Falk never regretted his part in Roggvir's execution, and he never believed he would, regardless of what he would say today.

Eyes down, he smoothed the papers that had been badly wrinkled when Istar grabbed him. His Lady's fair hand was proper, delicate, and unfailingly kind and eloquent, even in a moment of great sadness.

The crowd sensed the imminence of the speech, and a ripple of quiet replaced the persistent chatter of just a few moments before.

Papers in hand, Falk gathered himself, and lifted his chin high to see all eyes on him. Strangely, as he looked up, his attention fell on a small huddle of people close to the walls beneath his feet. He knew their names and who they were, of course, but when he looked into the eyes of the little girl Svari, frightened and confused and sitting atop her father's shoulders, his voice caught in his throat, and he lost the ability to speak.

A/N: I apologize for how long it's taken me to update this story. For a time, I thought I was finished with this website, but this is a story I've always believed had some potential to be the first project I might ever finish. I hope that you enjoy the addition; I have others in the works, but I am having trouble getting Doc Manager to cooperate.

This story is mostly told through Elisif's perspective in third-person limited, but I occasionally will shift to the perspectives of other characters - such as Falk - to give us a better understanding of the world of Skyrim and its people.

To better frame Elisif's experience, I will likely be including all sorts of flashbacks - primarily of the war, and of creative interpretations of moments the game didn't explicitly cover - to add greater insight to her character. Not every chapter will necessarily have a flashback, but it was the easiest way that I could inject human moments without constantly derailing the timeline of the story I am currently telling.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

_Throughout the war, Bryling quietly reserved a small part of herself that had a soft spot for the Stormcloaks. She earned her place in court through her deeds as an adventurer and warrior, and like many in Skyrim, the Nordic philosophy was something she cherished: it was how she led her life. Ulfric's appeals to honor, nobility, and tradition played havoc with her sympathies, even though it was more the cause she was drawn to than the man. When Istar Cairn-Breaker delivered Ulfric's demands in-person while the fires of the city were still being put out, the principled Thane fractured. _

_In her anger, Bryling she shot to her feet from the palace bench. __"__No standing armies?" she snapped at the unwelcome guest. "You mean to leave us unguarded and unprotected? How are we supposed to defend ourselves? How are we supposed to defend our families?"_

_A hush fell over the room. Istar spared her a single frigid look._

_ "__The city of Solitude will pay for its treason in vulnerability," he replied coldly, his immobility overpowering her until her own disgust forced her back to her seat, "until such a time it can be be trusted. Such is the nature of war. This order comes directly from Ulfric's war council in the interest of the peace of the realm." _

_ "__But surely you are aware of our numbers following the war…" Bryling murmured, aghast. "We cannot hope to defend this palace, much less the rest of the Hold…"_

_Istar had no interest in Elisif__'__s Thane any more. His stare — and his words — cut right through her. _

_ "__In his continuing spirit of generosity, Ulfric had decided to grant a small contingent of men for the protection of the Blue Palace. They will take over the duties of the household guard and provide the court the protection needed to ensure that these demands, and Ulfric's further needs, are met. Further, I shall replace the slain Captain Aldis and command my men to protect the rest of the Hold. _

_ "__Fear not," he added, a grim sheen of satisfaction cracking the dark surface of his eyes, "These men and women are all hand-picked by Ulfric's housecarl and general, the great war leader Galmar Stone-Fist. They will be here to watch over you."_

Elisif worked the pendant in her hand to calm her nerves, finding its shape and weight foreign to her fingers. It was so unlike the necklaces she wore in court. She had only seen the amulet once - the night before her wedding - before it was hidden away, and it felt eerie to wear in a public space when only months ago the discovery of its existence would have been enough to accuse her of heresy and in violation of the White-Gold Concordat.

Bolgeir stood watch at the support pillar between the entrance archways, leaving his Jarl to walk between the candlelit rows of benches in solitude.

The temple was empty of supplicants, which put Elisif at ease as her slippered feet silently traversed the woven carpets guiding her to the alcoves. Lightly, her fingertips touched the curved backings of the benches as she went, taking in the purifying scent of burning candles and wild snowberries.

The temples of Skyrim were so unlike the massive chapels back in Cyrodiil where she was raised. Although the Temple of the Divines in Solitude was a masterpiece of modern Nordic stonework and craftsmanship, she missed being able to see the faces of her gods reflected in the colors of stained glass and magnificent sculpture. As she approached the shrines, now nine in number, she looked up to the windows above each alcove and found them empty of those familiar faces that once brought her great comfort. She hoped that didn't mean that they had forgotten her, because she prayed for their guidance every day.

"Remind us of our place when we forget," the low chanting of the high priest reached her ears as the carpets ended.

Elisif watched him for a moment, taking in his soothing voice. She respected his acumen on the Divines, but she loved best the religious interpretations of his acolyte, Silana, who preferred to see the mercy and compassion in the gods' teachings whenever Elisif asked. The two had spent many fine hours in quiet conversation, and Silana always heard her prayers and tried to divine the answers that she received. Elisif hoped that one day she would become high priestess.

As Rorlund reached a pause in his mantas, she delicately scuffed one of her feet on the temple stones, and he broke from his contemplation.

He bowed his head in recognition. "My Jarl, you are most welcome." And, in his way, he sensed her desire for privacy, and silently left the main chamber.

Feeling alone for the first time in a long time, Elisif collapsed on the front bench, her face falling into her hands. She bowed her head low, her circlet teetering on the verge of slipping from her head. She felt the sting in her eyes and rubbed the feeling away.

"Remind us when we forget," she whispered, and focused on steadying herself with several long breaths.

In the quiet of the temple, she almost felt free from the Stormcloaks and the immense pressure of her position as Jarl of Haafingar. In the house of the Divines, she felt great peace and calm, and it almost triggered another round of tears. This was her one sanctuary in a world against her, and it would be - until Ulfric's priestess arrived, to take away yet another thing of hers.

When she felt ready, she approached the nearest alcove: the shrine of Mara, whose teachings she loved best alongside that of Kynareth. As a child, Mara's teachings of love, forgiveness, kindness, and family resonated deeply with her, and her father always told her that Kynareth had granted her one of mankind's greatest and most under-appreciated gifts: that of compassion.

_"__Sweet Elisif," _he always told her, _"the world in your head is full of flowers and kindness."_

Because of this, he often teased her that she could never truly be a devotee of Julianos, the god of wisdom, who demanded cleverness and unbiased wit from his followers. Her marriage to the High King of Skyrim contented her father, who saw Torygg's gentle nature and was satisfied that his only daughter would marry a man whose own innate kindness would allow him to fully appreciate hers.

Delicately, she touched the shrine of Mara, recalling her childhood in Cyrodiil with a smile. It took her far away for a time, until she also recalled her father telling her once that her kindness would make her a good wife, a good mother, and a good teacher, but that she was far too kind to ever rule.

If he were alive today, it would certainly pain him greatly to see her now, having lost a bitter war and caged to a throne she neither truly wanted nor was prepared for. The smile slipped from her face, as she wondered if he was right all along. Elisif believed, despite herself, that the best rulers were wise and kind, but wisdom and kindness had done nothing to protect Torygg from Ulfric's sword, and it certainly hadn't won her any battles.

Still, she looked to Mara for answers, and made her way through the alcoves, ruminating on all the gods' individual teachings.

When she reached the alcove of Talos, she hesitated to approach his shrine. Talos was a stranger to her, as his worship had been outlawed some years before her birth, and she knew him from her historical teachings only.

Fingering the amulet in her hands, she laid the small golden idol in her hand, palm up, and took in its face.

This war was predicated on the Nords' right to worship Talos, but she could not hate him, only wonder. Talos brought her back to the events of today, and she knew that Roggvir had died for Talos, believing what he did was right. Talos was on his lips as he died, as it was on the lips of the many Nords that shed their blood for him in the civil war. She knew secretly that many of her people in the Imperial army secretly worshipped him, just as her husband did in life.

With the conclusion of the Ulfric's contest for the throne of High King, a part of her feared this famous god of war, but also desperately wished to understand the relationship that the Nords of Skyrim had with their hero-god, to know the love and fervor that they felt for him and that they swore they felt back. She suspected that Ulfric used him as a rallying cry for his own personal motives, but his own personal motives would not have carried any army as far as it did: right to her doorstep. The Stormcloaks themselves believed that Talos carried and championed their army, and how could they believe that if they did not find his returned love and blessing sincere?

Closing her fingers around the amulet, Elisif took a brave step forward to Talos's shrine and looked to him as if introducing herself for the first time, feeling shy.

She had made many prayers to the Divines in her lifetime save for Talos, and she knew that they answered back, in their way. Elisif wondered if, after all this time, Talos would hear her prayers and respond.

She didn't have the courage to touch the shrine itself, to ask for his blessing, so she merely closed her eyes and tried to find the connection with him that Torygg and so many others did by right of birth. After all, she was a Nord, too, wasn't she?

As she prayed to him, she ruminated on Roggvir's execution, and to her surprise she felt great shame flood her body before the alter. Roggvir's death was not a decision of her making, but she did not oppose it at the time, and even felt justified in this small act of revenge: now, with his bones at rest for a full year, she felt that her vindication was petty and dishonorable, and felt remorse fill her all the way down to her toes.

"Forgive my sins, Talos," she whispered so faintly it could only have been heard in the utter silence of the temple. "I am sorry."

As the words left her lips, the doors behind her burst open so wildly that they slammed hard against the stone, and a trample of footsteps and shouting startling her eyes open. Bolgeir was at her side so quickly she didn't even see him move, and her breath hitched in her throat in horror as people flooded the doorway, the deafening sounds of their arrival flooding into the room and echoing throughout the holy chamber, breaking the serene reverie.

"Falk!" she cried, and rushed forward, and Bolgeir shouldered his way through the mass of Stormcloak guards dragging the Steward into the safety of the Temple.

One of the guards dropped Falk to the ground as the rest secured the door behind them, and Elisif dropped to her knees at the sight of him. His fine clothing had tears in it, scuffled as if in a great commotion, and his head lolled to the side from an open cut to the head which bled profusely.

Not giving half a care for the yammering Stormcloaks surrounding her, she gently cupped her hands underneath Falk's chin so that he could look up to her. "Falk, please, what happened?"

His eyes rolled upward, although they were bleary and glazed. His voice was rough as he weakly offered, "I am sorry, my Lady…" before his eyes fluttered and he sagged into her touch, exhausted.

Rage swelled in her chest, and she sharply glanced up at the Stormcloaks flooding the room, before her eyes settled on Istar Cairn-Breaker. He was the man who was sent to fetch her in the Battle for Solitude, and he frightened her greatly - and he knew it, and used it to his advantage. In this instant, however, her anger filled her with great courage, and she demanded sharply, "What happened?"

Istar sheathed his massive warhammer and merely shrugged, wiping blood off his cheek that she suspected was Falk's. "The crowd turned into a mob during the speech," he merely supplied. "They were angry and started rioting."

That wasn't good enough.

Settling Falk to rest gently against the central pillar, she rose to her feet and balled her fists, glaring up at Galmar's officer, who stood two heads taller than she. "You were supposed to be there to control the crowd," she accused, and for a moment, her voice was as sharp as Skyforge steel. "Is this what you call control? You were entrusted with the protection of my Steward and you failed, miserably!"

"I was entrusted with _your _protection, Jarl," he retorted. "You were not present. In fact, I am surprised to find you here - I thought your Steward lied to us as you cowered within your palace. You are lucky that we delivered him to you unharmed."

"Unharmed?" she whispered. Suddenly, her voice flooded the room in a shout that trumped all others in the room as she pointed to Falk. "Is that what you call _unharmed, _Stormcloak?!"

The Stormcloak guards in the room jumped a bit, never before seeing the quiet, retiring Jarl this angry - or loud.

Before Istar could respond, Elisif heard her Steward groan, and quickly she returned to the floor by his side, her cool hand touching his enflamed cheek. He was dazed from the blow to the head, but his eyes sharpened and settled on Istar.

"What if Jarl Elisif had been there?" he snarled, his voice haggard but his outrage clear. "What if she was the one who had gotten hurt, or worse?"

"My men are out there quelling the mob as we speak."

Falk coughed out a broken laugh, although the effort made him wince.

"Your men. Your men! I saw the efficacy of _your men_."

Istar's agitation began to show, and that white eye unnerved Elisif. "Enough, Steward. If more blood rushes to your hot head perhaps you'll bleed to death, and what a shame that would be."

Falk grimaced with the effort to speak, but Elisif hushed him and glanced at the helmeted Stormcloaks in the room.

"My Steward is injured," she commanded indiscriminately. "Go and fetch the high priestess Freir for healing."

"Who, Jarl?"

"I don't care," she snapped. "Any of you. All of you. Go get Freir, and get out. Now!"

They all seemed to look at Istar to see if he would countermand her orders, but he didn't, so they all scrambled away from the scene to fetch the priestess.

Gently, Elisif inspected his face, which apart from a the nasty gash above the eyebrow which had a rather large bruise forming underneath the laceration, seemed okay. It was his eyes that worried her, as they seemed unfocused, and she wondered how he got the injury. She felt sick and imagined that it was from a thrown sharp stone, and she worried if he was concussive. She cursed the Stormcloaks and wished they would hurry up and fetch the high priestess.

"It looks worse than it is, my Jarl," Falk told her gently, wincing in the candlelight. "All head injuries bleed more than others."

"Hush," she repeated, gently stroking a cheek. "Bolgeir, would you mind snuffing the candles? The light pains my Steward."

Bolgeir assented silently with a nod and began pinching off the lights in the room with his gauntleted fingers.

Moments later, the Stormcloaks arrived with Freir in tow, and the high priestess gasped to see the powerful Steward reduced to such a state. She called for her acolyte to bring a candle, warm water, a poultice, and some towels.

The Stormcloaks lingered in a circle around them, and Elisif banished them with finality, "Get out and go clean up the mess outside."

Only Istar lingered, and although Elisif loathed to leave her Steward's side, she knew he was in good hands with her priestess, so she stood once again and faced the giant of man blocking the doorway.

"I presume there is a reason that you are still standing here, Officer?" she asked, her voice softening to its polite tone now that her blood had cooled somewhat, although it grated her internally.

"Yes. Ulfric will hear about your absence from the Wells District today."

"Falk acted on my behalf, bearing my seal and hand, and he satisfied Ulfric's demand to the best of his ability - until your men lost control of the crowd," she reminded him, although the moment the words left her lips she knew it was a mistake by the flash of anger on the Stormcloak's face.

"You know damn well that it was _your words_ that were desired," Istar menaced, and advanced upon her, far too close now to be respectful. Elisif startled and backed off a few paces instinctively. "In case I make my meaning unclear to you Jarl, you are being watched. Remember that those demands are the conditions on which you keep your throne. Bear that in mind if you value the generous offer that Ulfric's extended to you."

At this, Bolgeir - always a quiet presence - lost his temper. Emerging at the front of the room, he butted between his Lady and the zealous thug in front of her, clenching the hilt of his weapon in a warning. The two were both big men, even for Nords — Bolgeir, however, was just the slightest bit bigger, barrel-chested and angry.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Bolgeir rumbled, his face contorted in fury. "I don't care if Shor himself commands you, you will remain a respectable distance from the Jarl, dog!"

Elisif suddenly remembered all of the men broken at her feet in her defense the day that the war ended and wrapped her arm around her housecarl, edging between the two and putting pressure on his sword hand, forcing it all the way back into its sheath. The sharp jolt of courage that galvanized her in her burst of anger dissipated instantly, and she tried to keep her fear from showing as it left her body.

"That's enough, Bolgeir," she pleaded, "please, go see to Falk."

"I know it's not my place to question you, my Jarl, but I do know my place is by your side, and I shall not leave it so long as _that_ man shows such disrespect."

She put up a hand to forestall Istar, trying to diffuse the situation. She feared for Bolgeir's safety. Istar was a murderer, and she had seen what he could do to brave and loyal men.

"It was a misunderstanding, I'm sure," Elisif said meekly. "Istar, my housecarl is very attentive, all I ask is that you come no closer to continue this very civil discussion."

Istar's own hand fell from the hilt of his warhammer and he scoffed, but he relinquished a few steps; Bolgeir's hackles lowered, but he still remained so close to Elisif's side that he was nearly touching her.

"Falk and I are very aware of Ulfric's demands, and we intend to fulfill them to the best of our ability. I apologize that I was not personally there to express my condolences to Roggvir's family personally, but all things considered, some might argue that my absence was fortuitous," she continued, and from the set of Istar's jaw she knew she scored a point, even if she paid for it with a nasty glare that stabbed a sense of foreboding into her belly. "Nevertheless, Ulfric might be pleased to know that I was seeking forgiveness from the Divines over the death of one of his admirers. Even Talos."

Istar Cairn-Breaker's jaw unclenched to release a harsh laugh. "And what do you know about Talos, girl?"

Elisif flushed at the "girl" comment, but chose to let it go. Elisif did her best to master her fear, and she relied on every moment of training concerning a lady's manners and courtly demeanor that she had learned throughout her childhood. "Not much," she digressed, her voice saccharine sweet with utmost courtesy. "Which is why I am looking forward to the arrival of his priestess of Talos. Her pending arrival in the city is most anticipated, and I think there is a lot that I can learn from such a devoted scholar of our people's hero-god, wouldn't you agree? While you're penning your letter to Ulfric about my many shortcomings, please feel free to include that the people of Solitude welcome its newest addition to our Temple of the Divines, most especially me, and are eager to take in all that she has to offer to our spiritual education.

"Now, as you mentioned before, your men outside are quelling the mob. I trust you to treat my people with respect and diffuse the situation with minimal violence, and to try and convince them to return to their dwellings in peace. Your men would only benefit from your guidance on such procedure. It would be to everyone's benediction were you to join them immediately, Officer."

Elisif's diplomatic words seemed to anger Istar more than her outburst from earlier.

"I would remind you, Jarl," he seemed to spit the word, "That I answer directly to Galmar Stone-Fist, and ultimately Ulfric Stormcloak, our rightful High King. I do not take orders from you."

Uncertainty reared its head once more, but she tried not to flinch. "I would never usurp the authority of either of your superiors. However, one of your postings is that of Captain of the City Guard, which traditionally takes direction from the throne of its respective Hold. As my new Captain, it is your job to keep the peace and esteem the safety of every one of the Hold's people, from Jarl to city beggar. You are needed outside this moment. We will handle matters in here."

Istar made a gruff noise of grudging assent, took one last stock of the room, and slammed the door as he left.

As the door hit the framework, the noise crashed throughout the room, which had turned dead silent. After he departed, Elisif felt a bit woozy from the cascade of emotions, and she pressed a hand tightly into her chest where she felt herself release a massive sigh.

Lifting the skirt of her dress, she eased beside Falk as her priestess gently worked free dried blood and dirt from his wound with a basin of clean water. She held a small candle close to Falk's face to inspect his injury, and his eyes were shut from both the intrusion of the light and sheer exhaustion.

"Will he be okay?" Elisif asked her priestess as she applied a compress to the injury.

"Yes," Frier replied, her eyes sharp with focus. "But it may be a long night. I suspect that the true danger isn't from the cut, but from a concussion the strike might have caused."

"Thank the gods he's alive." Elisif closed her eyes and felt the shudder of terror as she imaged what could have happened. Perhaps it was for the best that was in Temple all afternoon: she was certain that Falk's return to her was an answer from the gods, although she knew not which one.

A small smile appeared on Freir's lips. "I have no doubt that your faith and homage to the gods today kept him protected. At any rate, I have cleaned the wound the best I can. It might be better to move him to his chambers in the castle where he can get more comfortable. I will perform a healing spell there once things have calmed down outside, and you should ensure that members of your household keep watch around the clock until the danger has passed. Until we are sure the concussion isn't serious, he isn't allowed to fall asleep. Can you do that, my Jarl?"

Elisif nodded. "Of course." She would stay up with him all night if she had to, especially after everything he had done for her.

She turned to her housecarl. "Bolgeir, I don't think Falk can walk. Would it be possible for you to…?"

Bolgeir nodded. "Of course my Jarl, I will carry him."

—

Falk's wound looked much restored, the only trace that he had been injured being a small pink line of healed flesh just above the eyebrow. Elisif hoped it wouldn't scar. She dismissed Freir after receiving her instruction on how to care for the Steward in the coming days, and sent Bolgeir to get some rest in the room. Falk lay in his bed in the room next to hers, where Elisif pulled a small chair and sat at his bedside, her hands in her lap.

"It's bright in here," he complained, his eyes fluttering.

"Falk, there is only one candle lit. It's to keep you awake, remember? How are you feeling?"

Falk had a few words for how he was feeling, but none of them were polite to share with his Jarl. "The priestess's magic has taken away some of the pain. Gods, I am tired, though."

"I know," Elisif shushed sympathetically. "But I will stay with you."

Despite himself, Falk cracked a smile. "You are very kind to me, Elisif."

The use of her name gave her pause. Even in private, Falk aways showed the proper respect, always addressing her by her title despite their closeness. He was trained in the ways of the court and polite to a fault. The use of her name made her smile, and she didn't mind it, although she knew that it was likely the injury speaking, not him.

Falk's eyes fluttered shut and his face relaxed, and Elisif gently shook him by the arm.

"I know it's hard, but you have to stay awake until we're sure that the concussion isn't serious, Falk."

Falk opened his eyes at his Jarl's behest, and he chuckled. "Hit by a stone. It's sort of a battle injury, I suppose, although I'm not sure Tsun would let me into Sovngarde for it. Not exactly a brave or heroic deed, and I had neither shield not sword to defend myself."

Elisif squeezed his arm. "Sovngarde would be lucky to have you. But not for decades yet, Falk. If my Steward falls asleep and never wakes up, what would I do without my dearest friend?"

"There's always Erikur, my Lady."

The impromptu humor had both of them in stitches, until Falk winced and his laughter trailed off.

"Focus on my voice, all right?" Elisif urged. "I know your memory is a little hazy right now, but I want you to tell me exactly what happened today."

Falk's brow furrowed, and he took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"It was as I feared, Elisif. It wasn't just the people of Solitude that showed up to watch, but there were strangers in the crowd that I did not recognize. There were so many people, it was hard to keep track."

"When did it go wrong?"

"Right near the middle, when I began addressing Roggvir's execution and delivering the pardon and apology. The crowd had been relatively docile until then, just staring as if they couldn't believe what was happening, but then, some people in the crowd began to shout and throw stones and tomatoes. One of the stones hit me in the head, and in that moment everything exploded. The crowd turned into a confused and panicked frenzy. The Stormcloaks tried to keep them in their places and settle things down, but there were too many people for the guards to handle them effectively. Some tried to breach the platform, and that's when Istar and his men drew their weapons and dragged me away to the Temple, where I sustained some other injuries."

Elisif could scarcely imagine it, and she tightened her grip on her Steward's arm, so close to having lost him.

"Was anyone killed?" she asked tentatively.

Falk shut his eyes. "I don't know. There was too much… everything happened so quickly…"

Elisif squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry, Falk. You don't have to remember any more. I'm sorry I am making you go through it again. It should have been me."

"I'm glad it wasn't," Falk said fiercely, his eyes snapping wide open and his body tightening. "I know who is responsible for this!"

Elisif's mouth gaped open, her fine brows drawing together. She lowered her voice, aware that anyone could be listening. "What do you mean, Falk?"

"He is responsible for this," Falk sneered. "I know he is."

"Who?" Elisif queried, puzzled.

"Istar Cairn-Breaker."

The Jarl checked over her shoulder to ensure no one was lingering outside the door before returning her attention to the Steward. She shook her head in disbelief and leaned down closer to the bed, so that their conversation would go unheard.

"No," she whispered, horrified. "There is no way. He may be one of Galmar's men, but he answers to Ulfric. Any attempt on my life would be in direct contradiction to the pardon he gave me after the Battle for Solitude! Falk, you yourself said that Ulfric sparing my life was carefully calculated and politically advantageous to him. If he leaves me alive, he is compassionate and a hero; if I am killed, either by the Stormcloaks or under any suspicious circumstances, he may lose any of the sympathy he's gained from my supporters and sympathizers. I hate Istar as much as you, but it wouldn't make any sense for him to be behind today's events."

"Elisif, I saw some of his men there," he insisted.

"Whose men?"

"Istar's! I swear to you, that man can deny all he wants, but I saw several Stormcloaks in that crowd and _they_ were the ones who started the shouting and throwing the stones that brought the crowd into a riot. Istar is in charge of every Stormcloak in his city, they would only be there if he put them there!"

In his rage, Falk's upper body rose off the bed, and Elisif gently laid him back down.

"Peace, Falk," she said gently, although his words ruffled her greatly. "I need you to lie down and try and stay calm. Do not overexert yourself. You are injured, tired, and concussed. It's possible you are not remembering everything correctly."

"I know what I saw, Jarl," he insisted. "I swear to you, I know what I saw. It was the Stormcloaks who turned the crowd into a mob."

Elisif sat quietly with him for a moment, stroking his arm until she felt some of the tension leave his body.

Suddenly, Falk broke the silence. "I want to trade rooms with Bolgeir."

"What? Why?"

"If I'm right, and I'm certain I am, I want your housecarl in the room closest to you, so he can protect you at all times. He should be in the room closest to yours anyway for safety reasons."

"Falk…"

"Please, Elisif. Do this for me."

The use of her name brought another smile to her lips, despite the seriousness of the conversation. It was nice, for once, to simply be Elisif, rather than Jarl Elisif, Elisif the Fair, Torygg's widow, or the Widow Queen.

"All right," she yielded, "if this will make you feel more at ease, and you promise to behave while healing. I will arrange to have your and Bolgeir's things moved into your new rooms within the next few days, after you are well enough."

Falk sighed, and it seemed his troubled mind was settled at least for the moment.

"Thank you, Elisif."

"You are most welcome, Falk."

The two sat in silent contemplation for nearly an hour, until Elisif smothered a yawn with the back of her hand. Falk's attention immediately returned to her.

"Please, Elisif. Do not strain yourself on my account. You have a long day of court tomorrow, and need your rest."

"Nonsense," she scoffed. "I will stay here with you."

"Please, Elisif. Your well-being is my number one priority as Steward."

"Don't tell Bolgeir that, he might feel a little slighted."

"Be that as it may, please, I beg that you return to your room and try and get some sleep."

"You are asking many favors of me tonight," she teased him, although she never minded when Falk asked things of her. Often, she depended on his direction, and she was happy to reciprocate her thanks whenever she could. "But I will assent. I shall call for my maids to keep an eye on you, and—"

"No, please," Falk said weakly, still looking feverish. "Send for Bryling. Please."

Elisif paused as she rose from the bedside chair, but the pleading in his eyes swayed her. "All right," she consented, confused by his choice but willing to offer her injured Steward anything. "I shall send a messenger to her home. Do not fall asleep in that time, or I shall call Bolgeir to shake your body so sternly that your soul will be recalled from the halls of Sovngarde."

Falk sagged into his bed, seeming more at peace. "Thank you, my lady."

—

Try as she might, Elisif lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, one arm thrown over her forehead. Today's events and Falk's words swirled around in her head like a pack of snapping dogs, and they chased away each hint of drowsiness when it came upon her, leaving her thoughts spinning and disorganized.

Falk was her most trusted advisor, and she trusted his judgement. The look in his eyes burned with sincerity in his accusations. He had the best look at the crowd today from the position of the pulpit, and she didn't see what he saw.

Nevertheless, it made no sense to Elisif.

_Why would he spare my life after my conquest only to have me murdered months later? _she wondered. As much as she hated her conquerors, she couldn't find any way this would benefit Ulfric - and Ulfric didn't do anything without some sort of purpose or benefit to himself.

Perhaps her father was right: she was too kind to see things properly on the throne. She knew she was surrounded by potential enemies that she had no control over. For now, she would trust Falk, because she wasn't sure she could trust herself, even though the snapping dogs in her head chased the little voice inside of her that told her something was amiss.

Those thoughts plagued her that night, as she rolled side to side without rest until the sun finally peaked through her bedroom windows.

A/N: Finally, a little excitement, eh? Any thoughts, questions, concerns? I adore interacting with my readers, so please feel free to leave feedback and PM if you would like! I promise I won't bite!


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

_The sights and sounds of the Imperial City awed her greatly throughout the entirety of her childhood, but nothing captured her imagination quite like the exquisite ladies of court in their dashing gowns and elegant hairstyles. _

_ Her father was a nobleman of Nord heritage, and when she had finally mastered her formal table manners and curtsy at the age of five from her governess, he took her with him to court for the very first time. She usually hid behind his legs in crowds, but as the noblemen and noblewomen flooded the major courtroom, it was all she could do not to rush forward. The women were beautiful and regal in their fashions, and they carried themselves like statues, postures perfect and brimming with poise. The colored fabrics and cuts of their dresses shimmered in the light, their fingers gleamed with rings set with gems of all colors, and when they moved, the fragrance of their perfumes whirled with the swishing of their skirts and filled the air with extravagant scents. To her, they all seemed to be touched by the goddess Dibella, living perfection, and she burned to be like them more than anything._

_ Tugging at her father's trousers, Elisif pointed a finger at the glamorous huddle of women._

_ "Father, will I be one of those ladies someday?" she asked excitedly, unable to tear her eyes away._

_ He chided her on pointing fingers and lowered her arm gently, but he couldn't help but chuckle at the look of complete amazement on her face. He scooped her off the ground and balanced her on his shoulder to get a better look at the excitement of court._

_ "Sweet Elisif," he laughed, "Fair Elisif, you are already more beautiful than any of those ladies in their fineries. You will not be another mere lady in a Count's court - you will be the wife of a great king or emperor someday, I promise you, and your children will be princes and princesses."_

_ She gasped with joy, her imagination overflowing with possibilities. "Will I be a queen, Papa?"_

_ "Sweet Elisif, you will be a beloved queen no matter where you are, and all will recognize you by your fair face and the crown atop your head."_

"My Lady, you look positively exhausted."

Elisif merely blinked her red-rimmed eyes as her maid gently worked a fine silver comb through her hair. Her thoughts had settled somewhat, leaving her in a state of mild shock concerning the prior day's affairs. Elisif reached to the table next to her wardrobe and washbasin and held a hand-mirror between her hands, her pallid complexion reflecting poorly, like a stone mask. She was certain if she raised a finger to her cheek, it would be as stiff as a statue.

Erdi nattered on as she combed the Jarl's hair until it shone like silk, and then carefully twisted two braids on either side of her head, joining them at the back. She left briefly to retrieve Elisif's dainty gold and ruby circlet, which she set delicately at the crown of Elisif's head. To Elisif, it felt heavy.

Erdi paused in her endless stream of consciousness. "My Lady, are you well?"

Elisif summoned a small smile for her maid that cracked painfully at the edges of her mask. Erdi's relentless happy chatter usually pleased her greatly, but today she waved her away. "Headaches again, Erdi. Nothing more."

Erdi looked concerned. "Trouble sleeping again? Shall I notify the court that you are indisposed and fetch one of the bards?"

"No," Elisif assured as she rose from her chair, although her body ached to stay in her chambers. "I have much to discuss with my court. I thank you for your service this morning. Please, return to your duties."

"As you will, my Lady."

—

Elisif wore slippers that made no noise as she emerged from her room and walked the masonry of the hallway that connected her chambers to the throne room. With an erect carriage and perfect posture, she ghosted through the halls of her beautiful castle, aware that noises tended to bounce off the ancient stones and walls of the Blue Palace.

A nasty laugh reached her ears through the archways.

"… I would be surprised to see our Jarl in court today. I heard that she spent nearly the entire night in the Steward's quarters before returning to her own chambers in the small hours of the morning. Perhaps our Steward tires her out more than we ever guessed!"

"That's absolutely ridiculous! Hold your tongue, Erikur, unless you would like me to remove it for you!"

"Of course it's ridiculous. The day that Erikur actually contributes something intelligible to this courtroom will be the day that I am surprised. If every jibe, lie, or piece of gossip that passed his lips were a gold coin, his mouth would be a fountain, and he wouldn't need all of his 'legitimate side businesses' to support himself. You do seem rather defensive though, Bryling. Could you be jealous?"

"How dare you, Sybille—!"

"Look, look, honorable members of the court, I'm only saying the things that any other courtier or Stormcloak spy would say. My point is that she should conduct herself more carefully."

"No, your point is to spread salacious gossip at every turn for your own amusement."

"You seem to know more about what a Stormcloak spy would say than any loyal member of this court should, Erikur. Would you care to explain why that is? I am ever so eager to hear it."

"What a sloppy accusation, anyone in Solitude with ears can hear these rumors, either inside or outside of the Blue Palace. This palace is filled with spies and gossiping guards and maids, who take home their daily rumors to their families, who then spread it in the tavern to the rest of the Hold. They whisper that the Jarl closes court early oftentimes complaining of 'headaches.' They say that she is in court less and less, barely attending to her duties as Jarl. They say that she calls on the bards to relieve stress for more than just music, especially that young Redguard lad that she seems so fond of… Ataf, I think his name is? There were rumors about her and General Tullius when he was alive, and with how frequently she meets with Falk, there are rumors about them now, too."

"Yes, we know - but we don't spread them. They are lies that undermine her authority, no matter how weak, and I'd watch my footing if I were you, because I have a few ideas about where this gossip originates from."

Elisif rounded one of the arches where the hallway spilled into the grand throne room, and each member of her court turned and looked like guilty children caught doing something naughty, save for Erikur, who hadn't the shame to look contrite.

Elisif's face remained stony, but she couldn't fight the flush that creeped into her cheeks. Without Falk to oversee the court, they spoke with impunity; and it seemed that this was the level of calumny that he tried to protect her from. On some level, she knew that her Thanes gossiped and spoke about her behind her back, but in Falk's absence where it went unchecked, the brunt of it hit her with the same kind of force as if she was unaware of it in the first place. To her face, they never repeated the rumors that pervaded the court and always asserted their loyalty - but now she had a taste of those rumors, unfiltered. She now knew why Falk hid these things from her: because these words hurt, and she had no knowledge on how to squelch these rumors.

Silently, she took her place at her lavishly-carved throne at the head of the room, her gaze level and careful not to look any of her courtiers in the eyes.

There was a bashful hush in the court for a moment - still early yet to receive any complainants - before her court returned to order. Bolgeir emerged from his quarters to take his place at her right hand, her silent protector, but Falk's absence was palpable and left an unnatural feeling of uneasiness in the room.

The first to move, Bryling bravely sidled to Elisif's left, kneeling and placing one hand over hers.

"My Jarl, the Steward informed me late last night of what transpired in the Wells District. I am so sorry about what happened between the Steward, the crowd, and the Stormcloaks. I am ashamed of our people and the way they conducted themselves on what was supposed to be a solemn occasion."

Elisif finally met eyes with her warrior-Thane, who showed her great affection but secretly thought her weak. That stung.

"He is doing well, I take it?" she inquired politely, using courtesy as her shield. "I have not had the chance to visit him yet." She glanced at Erikur, who carefully guarded his expression.

Bryling nodded. "He is doing well. Tired from a night's lack of sleep, but the priestess came in at first light and told us he was out of danger, and that he should spend two days on bedrest."

"He protested, I imagine. He never misses court."

Bryling laughed, and it loosened some of the tension in the room. "Of course. But some of our household staff is keeping an eye on him to make sure he convalesces."

"We also heard the news this morning, although the sounds of the mob could be heard even from my home." Erikur, sensing his opportunity, slunk into her field of vision. "What a horrible tragedy, my Jarl. Absolutely horrible. Although we all wish the Steward a speedy recovery, what great fortune that he was there! To think that you were supposed to be the one on the podium… how awful. Thank goodness that you escaped such a dangerous accident. You must be terribly shaken, however; please do let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you."

Sybille concurred with Erikur with a haughty snort. "That's putting it mildly. But you should rest easy, your eminence. Most people are as stupid as cattle, and that stupidity is exactly what makes any crowd prone to mob antics. If there is a next time, we will be more prepared to contain them."

Elisif kept her voice moderate and careful to remove any emotion. "You two seem convinced that this was sort of tragedy; and, as tragic as it certainly was, I have heard other opinions on the matter. Falk is convinced that this was no accident: he believes it was an attempt on my life, as does Bolgeir."

Sybille's brows rose, and Bryling squeezed Elisif's hand. "I concur as well, my Lady. What better opportunity for an assassin to strike than when you leave the safety of your castle?"

The thought filled the air with a pregnant pause before conversation resumed with an edge.

"What do you think, Jarl?" Erikur asked, brows drawn.

Elisif wasn't ready to share her thoughts, as even a night's worth of restless pondering hadn't given her any insight. She merely shrugged her shoulders in response. "I cannot say; however, Falk is convinced it was the doing of the Stormcloaks."

"Why would they do that?" Bryling balked. "If they still have any shred of honor, they would uphold the protection that Ulfric granted you after the Battle for Solitude…"

"Indeed," Erikur said, "But then, what's honor among murderers and thieves? Our sovereign is anything but benevolent. Still, it's hard to believe that anyone is responsible for what happened - the city of Solitude has seen its mobs from time to time, after all."

"Not in my time," Elisif asserted, "Not until yesterday."

Her courtiers shared a glance, and Elisif flushed again, knowing that they were likely thinking about just how short her time had been.

"In any case," Bolgeir interjected, in one of his rare moments of participation in court chatter, "I recommend that you remain inside the walls of the Palace or the Temple until things cool down."

Elisif frowned. She wished to feel safe in her own city and see it healed.

"You…" she sighed, conceding. "You are probably right, Bolgeir."

Una, one of Elisif's maids, tentatively appeared at the tops of the stairs in the courtroom. "I am sorry to interrupt, my Jarl," she supplicated, "but people from Haafingar are beginning to arrive, and many are in the waiting room as we speak…."

"No need to apologize, Una. Please let them know that court is open, and instruct the guards on the main floor to have them directed up the stairs in the order in which they arrived."

Una bobbed her head in recognition, and disappeared.

Suddenly, the feeling of unease returned to the room again.

Nose wrinkling, Sybille asked in a lowered tone, "My Jarl, is it… wise to open court today? Perhaps now is not the most opportune time."

Elisif took stock of the room and saw the discomfort in the eyes of her Thanes as well, even Bryling, and she felt a small twinge of betrayal wound her inside. It was plain to see that they interpreted Falk's absence to mean that court would not resume until he was healed enough to return to his duties; after all, most common affairs of court - including the handling of complainants and day-to-day affairs - were directed to him, not Elisif, who merely sat on her throne to reinforce his authority and occasionally chime in on weightier issues. Often, although she relied on and appreciated Falk's support, she felt as though she was not the ruler of her people. Falk was her greatest friend, but she hated the way her Thanes looked at him for confirmation whenever she spoke, and at times it strained her relationship with him and her courtiers, now that she was developing the eyes to see it.

Despite her great exhaustion, Elisif narrowed her eyes in a look that challenged them to object. Since the war, all she had felt was great desperation, but the fire that was kindled in her the previous evening when she saw her Steward bleeding and in pain found itself a hearth in her chest once more, and she raised her chin defiantly.

What she lacked in confidence, she came by honestly in stubbornness. _I'm a Nord too, after all, _she thought, willing herself to believe it, _and these are my people._

"It is always an opportune time," she said smoothly, "My people are always in need of guidance and aid, especially after this war, and they need it immediately. I am certain that the riot caused some damage as well, which will need to be addressed. We cannot wait for Falk to rejoin us if we would like to remain on top of courtly affairs." Once said aloud, her courtiers looked guilty again. She lifted her chin higher, and her back straighter. "After all, isn't it a Jarl's duty to see to her people?"

"Certainly," Sybille muttered under her breath, "but in doing so, you are probably letting in the rioters that caused the damage in the first place."

One of Elisif's thin eyebrows twitched. "Enough, Sybille." She looked up to where her citizens were hesitating to approach the landing to the courtroom. "Send them in."

—

The day passed with a steady stream of people until the light that filtered through the palace windows cast her throne in orange rays of light, signaling the final hour of daylight to remain to the people of Haafingar.

"Thank you, Jarl Elisif," a resident gushed, wringing her hands in gratitude.

"Of course. Haafingar's people will always be safe within the city walls, I promise you that. One of our castle masons will be by your residence tomorrow to fix the damage."

"Thank you, Jarl, thank you!" she skittered away.

Elisif signaled for the guard to impede the flow of traffic. "Guards, please send these people back to their homes, and ask them to return tomorrow if they have not been received yet. Court is now closed for the day. Their concerns will be taken care of in the morning."

As the stragglers, disappointed, turned from the stairs and exited through the palace doors, Elisif's shoulders sagged in pure exhaustion. She had sat in court since her husband's death over a year ago, but Falk had primarily dealt with the issues of her citizenry. It was difficult to believe that so many people could come to her castle seeking aid and not have enough time to attend to them all by the end of an entire day's session.

Sailors complained of an increase in pirate raids along their trade routes, merchants grieved over rising taxes within the city walls, poor farmers struggled to rebuild their properties while maintaining the current season's crop, stonemasons and blacksmiths required ongoing direction in repairing the still-there trebuchet damage from the battle, citizens from the un-walled sections of her Hold pleading for more troops to protect their homes from all manner of threats, travelers on the road complained of both bandit attacks and dragon sightings, and many other grievances from her people of every sort were put in front of her - all needing the aid of their Jarl and her court. They sought guidance, protection, and assistance, unaware that that the Jarl herself lacked all three. It seemed as if every soul under her protection and rule was in dire need of aid, and with the state of Haafingar following the war, she wasn't sure she had the resources to follow through on all the promises she made to those who sought her help, and this pained her deeply.

_So many people and so many problems, _Elisif thought, rubbing her temples. _I can hardly help them, much less address my very own large debts to Ulfric…_

Posture slipping, Elisif's shoulders sagged even further under the imaginary weight of Ulfric's demands.

Bryling touched a hang to her shoulder. "More will be back tomorrow," she said apologetically, "but you did good work today, my Jarl."

"They are not my only concern," Elisif sighed. "As much as I want to heal Haafingar as quickly as possible from the damage incurred during the war, I have Ulfric's demands to contend with as well, most especially addressing our reparations."

"Falk and I would be more than happy to assist, you know. That offer still stands."

Elisif waved a hand. "I appreciate that Bryling, truly. But I will not undo the work of my husband's father, and you and Falk are busy enough trying to scrounge for recruits to contribute to Ulfric's army. How goes the recruitment?"

"Falk and I had a meeting two nights ago where we discussed some ideas," Bryling said, "and I hope to set them in motion very soon, although it might take some time for our labors to bear fruit. Thankfully Ulfric hasn't given us a deadline, so we remain hopeful that we have time to put our ideas in motion."

"Good," Elisif said shortly, barely hearing her. She had her own issues. "Thank you, Bryling. Feel free to arrange a meeting if you wish to discuss this further."

"Thank you, my Jarl."

Erikur rose from his usual seat by the benches and approached her throne. "My Jarl, if I may—"

"No, you may not," Elisif snapped. She had no patience for his honeyed words and bold-faced lies. "I said that court is closed today. You may all leave. I wish to visit my Steward and determine the status of his health. Or would you consider that inappropriate?"

They locked gazes for a moment, and Erikur's mouth tightened before something flickered across his face and he released a rakish laugh.

"Never, my Jarl! Wish the Steward a speedy recovery for me."

At that, all members of the court found their way back to their homes, leaving Elisif alone with her housecarl by her side. She took in a breath, and pushed herself off the throne with great effort, assisted by a hand from Bolgeir.

"My Jarl, you are exhausted," Bolgeir said flatly.

Elisif chuckled mirthlessly. "Come. I will visit the Steward, and we shall have our rest."

Dutifully, Bolgeir followed her to the Steward's quarters. One of her household servants - the name she couldn't place - looked up from a bedside chair next to what looked to be a sleeping Falk. She looked from Elisif to Bolgeir and stood, bowing her head low and backing out of the room. Bolgeir guarded the door on her way out.

As Elisif took her seat, Falk's eyes opened and he smiled at her, his countenance clearer than the previous night. Elisif smiled back, relieved.

"I heard you did well in court today," Falk said.

One of Elisif's eyebrows arched in surprise. "How did you hear?"

"The maids. They are paid to be invisible, so they see and hear much, and they chatter."

"Ah."

"You look exhausted, my Lady Elisif."

This time, Elisif laughed out loud, with a touch of humor. "Falk, I have been hearing that line all day. I came here because I wanted to hear how _you_ were feeling. How is your head?"

Falk grunted. "Better. I am still tired from last night. I don't know why the priestess demanded I stay in bed for two days, however; sometimes I think excess of leisure makes the body more tired."

"She is a healer," Elisif chided gently. "And a priestess. Have a bit of faith. She is not just a religious scholar of the Divines, she was also trained extensively in the school of Restoration. I'd take her advice if I were you, and get some rest. If resting under your own power for another day is so disagreeable, I could ask for Angeline to procure a sleeping potion and have Bolgeir force you to take it to preserve your sense of honor."

"I surrender!" Falk laughed, holding his hands up. "I will rest another day. I just feel so useless laying here when I know I could be helping you and the court."

"I can manage the court for another day, but I do have something to discuss with you," Elisif confessed. "I came here to check on your condition, of course, but since you appear to be feeling better, perhaps I could ask you a favor."

Falk's expression sharped at attention. "Anything. What is it, my Jarl?"

"In two days, I will need you to take over court completely for the day. I need to go to the Temple of the Divines."

"Ah, I see. Ensuring everything is prepared for Jora's arrival?"

"Yes. She should be here in six days, according to Jorleif's last correspondence. These demands are taxing me greatly, Falk, and I want to accomplish as many as I can, as quickly as I can, so I can focus on my people once again." Her eyes pleaded him. "I was not able to discuss matters with the high priest and priestess yesterday, but in two days' time you should be fit to attend court again, and I can attend to the final touches of this last demand."

Falk nodded. "Good. Although I fear that ensuring her a place in the Temple of the Divines will not be sufficient to convince Ulfric the people of Haafingar are devout again."

Elisif smiled, proud of a secret she felt she had sleuthed herself. "That may work in our favor. Ulfric truly believes in his own hero complex: that he was fighting a holy war to preserve Talos as part of our culture. He's enamored with his own mythology. He sees himself not as a conquerer, but as a liberator, and when he won the Battle for Solitude and ousted the Empire, he believed that he freed an entire Hold of people who would rejoice in his victory and celebrate Talos's return, rather than destroyed the homes and commerce of the people who live here. My guess is that he will be quick to believe that Talos worship has been reinstated.

"Whether our new priestess is a spy or not," she continued, "I will double my efforts to make frequent trips to the Temple of the Divines to bring offerings, and speak at length about Talos with this Jora, who I believe will be more than ready to educate me and everyone else on the subject."

Falk looked astonished. "My Lady… you have really thought this through."

"Of course," she frowned, but reminded herself that, if today had shown her anything, she _was _inexperienced, and she shouldn't take it out on Falk, who went out of his way to protect her.

"As you said, whether Jora is a spy or not - and I think it likely that she is - time in the Temple will do you good. I don't think I need to advise you on caution within earshot of Jora when not speaking of matters of the Divines, however. You've been a prisoner of this castle for far too long, and you deserve to have the sunshine on your face and see the altars of the gods."

"Thank you, Falk, I appreciate that."

"You are welcome, my Jarl."

—

Falk managed to fall asleep in her presence, and she was careful to shut the door soundlessly behind her as she and Bolgeir exited his chambers.

"My Jarl," Bolgeir said tightly, his back stiffening.

Elisif's eyes were drawn to the archway outside the room, and Erikur stepped from the shadows.

"You seem to have startled my housecarl, Erikur. Isn't it unseemly for a member of the court to linger in the shadows?"

"Beg pardon, my Jarl," Erikur exhorted. "I merely did not want to interrupt your visit with the Steward, so I waited until you were no longer occupied. There is an urgent matter that I need to discuss with you."

"If you'll forgive me, Thane, it has been a very trying couple of days. My housecarl and I are exhausted and in need of rest. I believe that I dismissed court nearly an hour ago, and that included you. Whatever business you have with me can wait until morning, or you can make an appointment with me during private hours outside of court."

"My Jarl, please wait," he pleaded, reaching forward to touch her arm. Elisif shied away and Bolgeir swelled with such insult that he looked as if to arrange an encounter with his fist and Erikur's smug face.

As Bolgeir lurched toward him, Erikur seemed to reconsider and put his hands up in supplication.

"Peace," he amended quickly, "I meant no offense. Let me reassure you that this matter is urgent."

Elisif took in a deep breath, looked between her housecarl and her Thane, and swallowed back a sigh that she desperately wanted to release on her exhale. Instead, she crossed her arms gently in front of her - so as not to be grabbed - and forgave him with a nod.

"Fine. What is this matter you wish to discuss?"

Erikur held out a hand - not expecting her to take it, only as a show of good will.

"If you would take a walk with me, there is a private conversation I would like to have with you, concerning Haafingar's debt to Ulfric."

This caught Elisif's attention. She didn't like Erikur - she never had - especially after overhearing his own self-incrimination on his part of the rumor mill surrounding her. But with her own wherewithal on fiscal matters nonexistent and her ideas lacking, she felt obligated to make company with her Thane.

"Very well," she reluctantly conceded, "I shall follow you."

A hand on the railing of the throne room's overlook, he began to slowly pace throughout the throne room. The last remnants of sunset had faded into a dusky glow that covered the throne room in a dark veil softened by intermittent starlight. In such a setting, such a meeting felt clandestine - and that made Elisif nervous. Bolgeir felt her tension and followed closely behind her.

When Erikur heard two pairs of feet following him, he glanced over his shoulder and noted Bolgeir's increased presence.

"My Jarl, I believe a private conversation might be best…"

Bolgeir snorted.

"I apologize, my Thane, but whatever you can say to me you can say to Bolgeir. Since the troubles began he has stayed by my side, save for resting; even in his presence, what you and I discuss here will remain a private conversation."

Erikur didn't seem pleased by this, but he averted his eyes and his hands expressed with him as he spoke, continuing on nonetheless.

"Earlier today as you closed court court, I tried to bring up the topic of war reparations, but you cut me off. Forgive me if I overstep myself, but I believe that this is the only demand of Ulfric's that has not been given any attention."

As Elisif walked with him, a sick feeling crept into her stomach.

"Considering the sum, I am surprised that you have not asked me - a successful businessman - for advice, especially considering I am one of your Thanes."

Elisif hid the look she wanted to give him by focusing her gaze on her feet.

Erikur laughed. "Or perhaps not. But, may I offer you some advice?"

Elisif inclined her head, reminding herself of her manners. "You may offer it," she acquiesced.

"Everyone at court has invested their careers into the prosperity of Haafingar - you know this. In light of recent events, however, every member of court is thoroughly overstretched in their individual duties to meet the demands of Ulfric's war council in addition to the already-hefty responsibilities of managing the everyday affairs of the Hold. Although each demand is and has been challenging in its own way, I think that the sheer sum of money that Ulfric demands in reparations no doubt weighs heavily upon all of us, most especially you. While I admire your courage in attempting to address this issue on your own, given my extensive history in the world of making and managing coin, I can tell you that this is something that is impossible to do without any training, and guidance, or any resources."

Erikur paused to turn and look at her, and she stumbled. She had been fighting this reality, and to hear it aloud stole her breath. She had hoped beyond hope that she could find another way, in time, to handle this herself and prove her growing competence, but the enormity of her task overwhelmed her. As much as she hated it, Erikur was right.

"Erikur…" she took a deep breath, regretting the words before they left her lips. "I need your assistance. What is your advice?"

"My advice is this: you need an advisor. And I don't mean Falk."

She studied him carefully. "You, then."

"My Jarl, it would be my honest pleasure. But," he digressed, "I am one of the members of court that is also stretched thin right now. I will happy to attribute my own aid whenever I can, but I am talking about a true advisor.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, my Jarl: recall that this throne was meant for your late husband Torygg, who grew up with advisors and tutors that prepared him all his life for the responsibility of being Jarl, and eventually, High King. As such, he was well-educated in theoretical statesmanship as well as warfare. You, being a lady raised in Cyrodiil, were instructed in other matters. You have done well to manage this palace and keep the people at peace, but now that you are our Jarl by right, you must know the same things that Torygg once knew if you hope to succeed."

Elisif drank in his words carefully, like boiled looseleaf tea where she was careful to spot the bitter dregs that might gag her. After carefully considering his words, and finding no hint of mockery or deceit, she evaluated their worth with caution.

"Are Torygg's former advisor and tutors still on retainer? Or at the very least in Skyrim?"

Erikur shook his head. "Apart from Sybille, no, I'm sorry, my Lady."

_Ah, Sybille. Of course. After all, she often boasts on how she helped raise Torygg. _Although Sybille had fondness for her late husband, she had none for his wife and her current Jarl, of this Elisif was sure. Unlike the rest of the court members who tiptoed around their true thoughts and opinions, Sybille had none of the patience for it: she made no effort to hide her praise or disdain in Elisif's presence, although the former was exceedingly rare compared to the latter. In fairness, she served Haafingar well as court mage, but Elisif was sure that it was only because her position allowed her great resources; whenever Elisif spoke to her, she could tell by the look in her eyes that her affection extended only to her dead husband, and no further.

Irritable from lack of sleep and feeling hopelessness creep upon her again, Elisif demanded, "Then how am I supposed to continue serving my people as Jarl? How can I meet these demands when I have no one to advise me? How—"

Erikur stalled her by holding up a hand.

"You can think of no one?" he asked, amused.

Elisif was not in good temper and gazed at him mutely, with Bolgeir shuffling impatiently in the background.

Erikur looked astonished, spreading his arms wide and opening his palms. "You fear that there is no advisor right here in Solitude suited to facing the similar tasks you have before you?" he continued. "Not even a single one?" He chortled. "My Jarl, I can think of at least _four_."

A/N: I'd like to give a big shoutout to MASTER-OF-SURPRISE and Wolf Goddess of Siberia for their amazing support. You guys are awesome and always put a smile on my face! I hope everyone continues to enjoy the series!


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

_The flow of court was disrupted as a man clamored up the stairs to the throne room and collapsed in exhaustion at the double-raised platform at Elisif's feet. Having completely lost his footing and straining on his hand and knees to stand, Bolgeir hoisted him by the collar of his shirt and settled him on his feet, albeit several paces back from the Jarl's throne._

_"Who are you to approach the Jarl without an invitation?" Bolgeir growled, emphasizing his annoyance with a small shake of the interloper's collar._

_"Peace, Housecarl," Falk interrupted, leaning forward with a look of great concern on his face. "This man is dressed as a courier. Drop him, and let him speak." He placed a hand on the sweaty man's arm, and gave him a nod of encouragement. "Go on, son. Tell us what message you carry that brought you here so swiftly."_

_"Jarl Elisif," the man panted, his eyes settling on her."I ran as quickly as I could from Whiterun. Ulfric's forces have taken the city there."_

_A chill crept over the room as every occupant of the court were struck mute. Whiterun was the center of Skyrim, a hub of trade rivaling that of Solitude, with bountiful fields and sturdy walls that had defended the city's stronghold for centuries. Jarl Balgruuf had ruled well for years, and was one of the most respected and powerful lords in the province. That the Stormcloaks had successfully taken such a city… _

_Eyes widening as horror crept in, Elisif shakily broke the silence: "This information needs to go directly to General Tullius!"_

_"My Jarl," the man wheezed again, trying to speak and catch his breath at the same time. "An Imperial courier sent word to the General just before I arrived. I am here with another message."_

_"Go on," Elisif urged, clasping her hands tightly over her lap. _

_"Jarl Balgruuf and his family are coming here, Jarl. They fled the city after the attack ended."_

_"They're still alive?" Falk asked incredulously. "Ulfric didn't execute them?"_

_"Yes, Steward."_

_"How far are they from Haafingar?" Elisif demanded._

_"No more than a day behind me, Jarl."_

_Elisif turned her head to Falk, her brows drawn together in concern and her face tight. "Falk, send a detachment of the City Guard on horseback to intercept them on the road and bring them straight here to the Blue Palace. They are under my protection now. If they are coming, they are coming by the road west of Whiterun with children and possibly injured parties, and they will likely need our assistance. It may be wise to retain a carriage. No harm will come to allies of the Empire if I can help it."_

_"We have little room for so many guests, Jarl," Erikur protested._

_She pressed her lips together in thought before speaking. "If we have room to entertain the Thalmor and traveling dignitaries, we can make room for our allies seeking sanctuary, regardless of space. Falk, see to it that we have quarters established for our new guests."_

_Falk nodded his head. "I will head to Aldis straight away, and then commission beds and other furniture to be prepared and placed in the basement to accommodate them. It may not be fancy, but they will be comfortable and safe there until the war turns around and they can be returned to their rightful homes."_

_"Excellent, Falk, that should do. Go quickly now."_

_Elisif turned her head back to the weary courier before her. "Thank you for bringing this message to me so quickly," she said earnestly, reaching forward to softly cup his hands in hers and give them a pleasant squeeze in gratitude. "You have run an incredible distance in a very short time to deliver this message, and you must be exhausted. My Steward will ensure that you are provided payment for your loyalty, as well as food, a bath, and lodging at the local tavern to ensure that you can recover from your journey. May the Divines bless you and keep you."_

_"And you, my kind Lady," the courier thanked, bowing shakily. "Thank you. You will make a fine queen, I swear it." _

The sun had not yet risen over the great archway of Solitude, and the city still slept in the brisk morning twilight of the coming spring. At this hour, only the keening and chirping of the rock warblers carried on the wind, heralding the early hours of a fresh day. The overnight chill clung to the stone walls despite the many carpets and tapestries, the fires of the palace not yet stoked in their hearths by the servants.

Jarl Elisif carried a small candle and bunched her skirts away from her feet with her free hand as she navigated the dim halls of the Blue Palace, silent and composed, as always. Some thought her a shade of a true Jarl during the war, a puppet and a shadow queen: seen but not heard, a fair face only meant for decoration. Elisif enjoyed being able to move about her palace silently, at her own discretion, but she was going to change how the people viewed her.

Her housecarl followed wordlessly, but his full plate clanked softly with every movement at the joints in his armor.

"Are you sure about this, my Jarl?" he asked, his voice respectfully low for the hour.

"In fact I am."

"I don't like Erikur. I don't trust him."

Elisif laughed lightly. "What is the verse of Julianos? _… '_without you, my wit is weak to sort the wheat from the chaff, and my eyes should neither know the true from the false, nor sense from folly, nor justice from prejudice and interest'."

Bolgeir's eyes furrowed, clearly not understanding the significance of the holy verses. Trained as a bodyguard, it was likely he did not know them at all. "What does that mean, Jarl?"

"It means that we ask Julianos to guide us into making wise decisions. Of all the Divines I have struggled with his teachings the most, being ruled mostly by the unconditional love, honesty and forgiveness of other deities. Erikur displays none of these qualities, so I find him… uncouth and self-interested. Julianos, on the other hand, seeks unbiased thought from all men to determine wise course of action. Although it vital to examine the source of information and advice in order to think critically, we do not have to like Erikur to see his wisdom when he does present it. Our bias against him could make our ears deaf to his assistance, and he is a Thane of this court, after all."

Bolgeir seemed to ponder this for a moment, before harrumphing in consternation.

"It is moments like these when I regret your advice to me to not discuss which court attendants I'd like to punch in the face."

Elisif smothered another laugh into her hand with a ladylike cough.

"Does Falk know about this?"

"He will soon enough, depending on what happens."

Elisif stopped.

"All right," she ordered with a crack of a smile. "Here we are. Guard the top of the stairs, make sure no prying eyes or ears intrude."

"As you will, my Jarl."

The candlelight flickered as she turned to face the stairs to the basement, and she cupped a hand to the delicate flame to protect it as she descended the stairs. As she reached the landing, the warmth of a roaring fire warmed her to her toes, and she peered across the room to see many solemn faces concentrated on her.

—

A long rectangular table dominated the center of the room, and Elisif sat at the head of the table. Silently, her guests took their seats, while their followers and families took places along the wall.

"I beg forgiveness that I have not come to visit you in a long time," Elisif confessed.

The former Jarls of the realm all stared at her, dressed and alert at this hour of the morning. Balgruuf of Whiterun was intent and focused, his face a look of grim determination; Siddgeir of Falkreath was coy and feigning disinterest, although it was clear he was eager for the meeting; Idgrod of Hjaalmarch was composed, and her wise eyes were firmly set on her; Igmund of Markarth rested his chin on one raised fist, his face stony but countenance keen. Behind them were royal family members, housecarls, and former stewards.

Suddenly, her body flooded with a crackling energy that had nothing to do with the fire in the room. The toll of countless sleepless nights seemed to abate as she sat in the presence of these esteemed men and women of Skyrim, feeling more awake and inspired than ever.

"We thank you for your visit," Idgrod Ravencrone intoned politely, her eyes sharp. "We understand that you must have many more obligations and responsibilities now that this frivolous war has ended."

A noise of assent rippled throughout the room, many sympathetic or bitter.

"There's more," Elisif continued. "I would not have woken you at such an early hour and gathered you all here if it wasn't for something important."

The interest directed at her intensified, and she swore that the atmosphere in the room thickened.

Elisif took a moment to make eye contact with each of the former Jarls at the table in turn, before she shut her own and took in a deep, calming breath. She had been preparing herself the previous evening, and steadied herself. When she opened her eyes again, she spoke clearly and completely without any interruption.

"It goes without saying that the past year has been a hardship for all of us. Ulfric's murder of my husband, his army's conquest across the western Holds of Skyrim, and his lordship over all these lands has removed you from your rightful places of ancestry and sovereignty. Although I remain on the throne of Solitude, I am constantly being watched and manipulated by Galmar's men; in a way, I, too, have lost much of what I loved about my home. I cannot imagine the pain and disgrace that you and your families are going through right now, and I cannot imagine that it will get much easier any time soon, particularly if you remain here, unable to leave the castle. I do not wish to hold you prisoner, even to keep you all safe.

"I understand that many of you have lost your homes and your good names, but as former Jarls you may have other options in Tamriel. You all almost certainly have leftover wealth and connections that could lead you elsewhere to find a new home and place for both yourselves and your families to settle down away from all this. I kept you here safely during the war as each of you fled to Solitude for sanctuary when your homes were wrongfully taken from you, hoping they would be returned as we emerged victorious. Unfortunately, with the outcome of the war, I can understand if you feel hopeless and no longer desire or see the purpose to remain here. If you would like to arrange safe passage elsewhere, I would be happy to accommodate you.

"With that in mind, however, I would like to offer you an alternative choice: instead of leaving Skyrim or living out your days purposelessly here in the Blue Palace, you could stay here and fill a role that I desperately need: as advisors to the throne. As many of you may know, my Steward, court mage, and Thanes were rewarded for their service during my husband's reign, and I merely inherited his court. Although many have served me well, it is difficult for them to accept need court attendants of my own making if I hope to be successful as Jarl. I'm not deaf to what those say about my inexperience, and I am not willing to let my stubbornness and ignorance negatively impact my decisions and the fate of Haafingar because of it any longer. Between the strain of ruling my own Hold, rebuilding from the war, and meeting Ulfric's demands, I could use all of your aid, if you would be willing to stand by my side as I have stood by yours. Every day my people come pleading to me for help, and I do not know how to help them. I need inspiration in dealing with Ulfric, but above all, I need aid in healing my people and their land."

Finished, Elisif drew in a steady breath and held it, glancing around the table and trying to guage the reactions of those seated there. She released her breath in relief when she realized she had everyone's full attention.

She understood that her proposition was a lot of information to take in at once, so she neatly folded her hands on the table and looked at the grain of the wood to allow them to deliberate amongst themselves without feeling the pressure of her watching them.

After all, she knew much about pressure.

Balgruuf was the first to burst the thoughtful silence, and Elisif's eyes rose from the table to meet his.

"Jarl Elisif," he began, rubbing his beard, still blonde despite his age, "it would be my great pleasure to help you after you offered sanctuary to me and my entire family - as well as my Steward, guard commander, and housecarl - when our forces fell to Ulfric's army. I doubt that there is is anything I can ever do to fully repay such freely-offered kindness after the great loss and tragedy we experienced. Your continued hospitality and protection, without asking anything of me in return for such services, is also greatly appreciated. My family might not be alive today were it not for your intervention and benevolence. I would like to apologize now for misjudging you at the start of the war; it is clear to me now that you are a rarity in such times of bloodshed.

"But… we are disgraced Jarls, Lady Elisif," Balgruuf insisted apologetically. "Even the powerful force of your mercy will never change the immutable fact of the outcome of this war, and our presence here may cause you great pain in exchange for your kindness. History will no doubt call us traitors after Ulfric and his supporters write their own tale, and when that becomes seen as the official version of the story, our continued company will only cast a shadow over your life."

The other nobles looked to Balgruuf as he spoke, and many nodded their heads in agreement.

"I am of a mind with Balgruuf," Idgrod said. "You took in my husband and children without any worry for yourself. Words cannot express our gratitude. The last thing that we would want to do is be the cause of any further suffering for you."

Igmund interjected, seeming to have kept council with himself and spoke for the first time. "Let us speak plainly. At this point, it is almost a certainty that Ulfric knows we are here - if he didn't know during the war, then he certainly knows now with his guards and spies in this very city. The Stormcloaks, Galmar, and Ulfric have to know. Would it really surprise him to know that we might maintain residence here even after the war?"

"Our continued presence might offend him," Balgruuf warned, "and if we play an active role in advising Jarl Elisif, he might react."

"We are of no threat to him," Siddgeir muttered bitterly. "He's taken everything from us. With the emperor dead and the Legion gone from Skyrim, Cyrodiil has bigger problems to worry about right now, and we will have no way of retaking our Holds. They will have to stabilize themselves internally before they can look to other shores, despite the sting of their defeat here. If Ulfric's hubris is as great at I imagine it is, he shouldn't think that we are a threat at all. In fact, I imagine our continued presence here - a sign of our disgrace - feeds his ego. He made it clear during the war that he thought false Jarls were not worth killing, and were meant to live in ignominy."

"Despite our loyalty to the Empire, there are those here in this country that will call us traitors to the Nord people," Balgruuf insisted.

Elisif rose from the table, and the conversation stalled as she was once again the center of attention. She smiled. "I am not immune to unwelcome names, myself. I care very little for what the historians will call you. For now, I will call you my guests, as ever - and my friends.

"And, as my friends, I understand that my propositions will likely require time to carefully consider. Whether you choose to stay or go, I want you to make your choice freely, without reservation, and to feel able to make such a choice with my blessing regardless of your decision. Of course, you may also wish to discuss this with your remaining family members and friends. Please take all the time you need. Have a pleasant morning."

Elisif excused herself, and met Bolgeir at the top of the stairs.

"Any troubles?" she asked.

"None, my Jarl. And you?"

"I am unsure," she admitted. "It is a difficult decision for them. We shall see in time."

Bolgeir grunted in acknowledgement, and followed his Jarl's footsteps.

—

Elisif closed the door to the Temple of Divines softly behind her and Bolgeir, unwilling to perforate the peaceful quiet of the holy building. The scent of snowberries reached her on a deep inhale, and Elisif felt her whole body relax.

As she entered, she met Frier who was just beginning to light the candles along the center isle.

"My Jarl!" she exclaimed, a pleased expression on her face. She stepped down from the stool below the high candelabra and blew out the lit match in her hand. "What a wonderful surprise to see you so early in the day! Dawn is just breaking."

"I had some business to attend to early this morning. It seemed pointless to return to bed, and I assumed that this would be the only place in Solitude where its tenants would be awake at this hour."

"You assumed right, my Jarl," Freir smiled. "My husband and I wake up an hour before sunrise to break fast, then we ensure that the Temple is prepared for daily worshippers at dawn."

"As always, I admire your and Rorlund's dedication," Elisif complimented politely.

"Your words do us great honor," she smiled back. "So what brings you to the Temple today? Would you like for one of us to hear your prayers, or perhaps you have come to worship the Divines in peaceful seclusion?"

"That would be wonderful," Elisif smiled, but then it faded as quickly as it was lit. "Unfortunately, I am here to discuss a few political matters first. The violence earlier this week caused a lapse in my memory that I need to rectify with you as soon as you have a moment."

Freir's smile flattened into a straight line as well. "Ah, of course. Sadly, my husband and I are unable to forget. This has to do with the pending arrival of the priestess of Windhelm, yes?"

Elisif nodded.

"An insult, of course," Freir rankled, her nose curling. "My husband and I have run this temple for years together as high priest and priestess of Skyrim; I hardly think that we need 're-education' on matters of the Divines from one mere priestess."

Elisif stepped further forward, looping an arm around the high priestess in companionship.

"I understand your feelings on the matter," she said lowly. "You and your husband were ordained as religious scholars and healers in the grace of the Eight Divines, not the Nine. I myself was born under eight idols, so I can understand that you have your own opinions on Talos worship due to your teachings, White-Gold Concordat aside."

Elisif squeezed Frier's hand, continuing, "As difficult as it may be for us, we are both Nords, and the outcome of this war has cemented Talos as part of our culture and religious pantheon. Right here, in this province, the debate has been settled - by violence. But we have to keep our hearts open to Him and to this priestess. Can you try to do that for me?"

Frier's jaw set into place and her eyes narrowed pensively, before she let go a silent sigh. "I understand where you are coming from, my Jarl. Still, it does not make it any easier for me."

"Although you and I believe that the religious motives of this war were merely a rallying cry that Ulfric used, Talos has been a part of our religion for a long time, save these past thirty years. Perhaps it's time that you and I try to understand him. I hope I come to know Him well," Elisif confessed, "if only to understand what it is about Him that drives my people to such passion and action."

The priestess's eyebrows rose, but she did not hold any ill-will in the expression - only curiosity.

"I… I suppose that is a reasonable response. We receive comfort from our prayers. Perhaps having another idol for the people to rely on in these troubled times is not such a bad thing after all. I will try to keep an open mind and treat this Windhelm priestess with respect. She will be a peer to us in all things, save for her knowledge of Talos, I swear it."

"Thank you, high priestess. It is good to hear that from you. I expect that you will speak with Rorlund and your acolyte?"

"Of course, my Jarl."

The two walked the aisle and took in the alcoves, all filled with statues that seemed to resonate with feelings of peace and spiritual energy. It is said that all shrines were crafted by those trained in Restoration, and the gods themselves blessed every one with their own magic. Perhaps that's why, even in her most abysmal of times, Elisif hoped that meant they were with her.

"Jarl Elisif?"

Freir's voice startled her from her thoughts, and she released the priestess's arm, which she didn't realize she was gripping so tightly.

"My apologies," she flustered, "I hope I did not hurt you."

Instead, Frier turned her concerned attention on her. "Is something troubling you, my Lady?"

Elisif froze, hoping that her face had learned greater mastery of her expressions, but found that she still struggled with composure in times of emotional distress. She struggled on whether to trouble her priestess and friend with her worries - if sharing such speculation might endanger her as well - but she knew that holy men and women were bound by their oaths to keep the secrets and prayers of their faithful confidential. Whatever words were said here would not extend past this conversation.

Elisif eyed Bolgeir in the background, and he inclined his head in support.

Sighing, Elisif, drew Frier close once more.

"Yes, there is something," Elisif admitted. "But this must stay confidential among the Temple caretakers."

"Of course, Jarl Elisif. I will keep your trust."

It took Elisif a moment to compose herself, to find the words, but Frier was a patient listener, and didn't rush her.

"You certainly know that the re-installation of Talos worship to Skyrim, especially within the halls of this high temple was a promise that Ulfric gave his followers during the war, and was one of the demands on a list he gave me to secure my right to rule," Elisif stated. "But later correspondence shows that is not all. He is sending this priestess of Talos, Jora, to join the staff here to ensure that his message is being spread properly, through someone trained in His specific worship."

"Yes, Jarl…" Frier confirmed slowly, quizzical. "We had been informed of that much."

Elisif turned to face her.

"What I am about to tell you is only speculation, but it is something that my Steward and I have been worried about since we received the initial letter. We believe that this Jora is another one of Ulfric's spies that he is slipping into the city."

When the weight of those words fell on her shoulders, Frier's mouth fell slack. Then, her face turned a bright shade of red and her teeth showed in a fierce scowl. In that moment she looked less like a gentle priestess and more like any other Nord prepared to go to battle.

"A spy?" she fumed. "In _my _Temple? Divines help us, has the man no shame? The Gods would never allowed such a thing! She will be struck down by the heavens before she enters this door, I swear it!"

Elisif hushed her insistently, squeezing her arm again.

"We don't know for certain," she hissed urgently, keeping her voice low. "All I wanted to do was to prepare you for the worst-case scenario. Right now we don't know who our friends or enemies are, and all we can do is prepare for the worst. Jora may very well be a well-meaning priestess to fill in the gaps of our knowledge of Talos since the abolishment of his worship. She may be a spy for Ulfric. She may be both. It is hard to know, but—" Elisif urged, "I need you to be aware of the possibility, and prepare accordingly."

It took several minutes for the high priestess to calm down, but when she did, her countenance was one of intense focus. She met Elisif's gaze and asked, "What would you like me to do, then?"

"Act normally," Elisif said, recalling Falk's advice to her when the letter first arrived. "Treat Jora with respect. Make sure that she feels welcome and comfortable. Treat her like you would any other member of the temple; work with her as you need to, and talk with her about matters of the Divines. Like you said, she will be your peer while she is in Solitude. When the subject of Talos comes up, let her take the lead, and agree with what she says. Even better, ask her questions to learn more about Him. Display an interest in her and her religious scholasticism. Make sure she knows that the Temple of the Divines is more than happy to accommodate the presence of Talos in its alcoves, and that the high priest and priestess are eager to learn more. If you don't do this, Ulfric might be convinced that the people of Solitude have not accepted Talos into their hearts, and then—" Elisif squeezed hard.

"—Then it will fall on you," Freir slowly realized. "Ulfric will punish you?"

"He might," Elisif whispered. "He made it clear these demands were the price I will pay for keeping the throne of Haafingar. And it might fall on you and your husband, too. Depending on what Jora tells him, he may decide that Skyrim needs a new high priest and priestess if you fail in this duty."

Frier's eyes glimmered and she inhaled sharply. "Then we must not fail."

"Exactly. And if this Jora is a spy - which I sincerely hope not - it may not be made easy for us."

"Us?"

"Yes." Elisif slipped a hand through the neckline in the top of her dress, and pulled the her Amulet of Talos out so that it hung over her heart. "My presence here will become more important than ever. Despite my many responsibilities, I will make every effort to be here as often as I can, and I will engage this priestess as often. We may not be speaking as much in the coming weeks because of this. No doubt, she is eager to talk to anyone and everyone, but it may put her at ease to know that Haafingar's leader is trying to improve her religious literacy."

"Clever," Frier lauded, and she reached a hand to stroke the face of the amulet with a finger. "An amulet made from gold? How unusual…"

"Torygg gave it to me the night before our wedding. He had a pair specially - and secretly - made. When we exchanged vows right here in this temple those years ago, we both had one hidden in our clothing."

Again, Frier's mouth fell open.

"My husband and I married you two!"

Elisif smiled ruefully. "Yes, I remember. And what was heresy back then is law now."

The two exchanged a look, and then both burst in laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation. All things considered, it felt good to be able to laugh, from deep within the belly and in the safe space of the Temple. When their laughing ended naturally, Freir wiped a tear from her eye.

"Where is the amulet's twin, if I may ask?"

Elisif slipped the amulet back into her dress. "Buried with him. Styrr did that for me."

More somber, Frier nodded. "Of course."

Changing the subject, Elisif lifted her chin and glanced around the temple. "The altars are looking well. The restoration work is impressive."

"Thank you, my Jarl."

"If it's not too much trouble, we should have some more time until the temple followers arrive for their morning prayers. May I please see the space that you have prepared for our upcoming guest? She should be here in about four days, if correspondence from Windhelm is correct, and I just want to ensure that you have everything you need, and that Jora will be comfortable when she arrives."

"Of course, please do follow me."

Frier led her up one of the identical staircases that flanked opposite sides of the temple to lead to the private chambers where the priests slept, ate, and studied. It was a peaceful place lit with candles and filled with books, albeit the beds were closely confined in the space.

"I'm thankful for the advice, my Jarl. Now I can rest easy that we made the proper decisions." Frier pointed out three beds. "Those are where my husband, our acolyte, and I sleep. Over there," she gestured, "is a new bed that was donated. We are keeping her with us in our quarters so as to not ostracize her, so she will sleep and eat in the same space as us. Hopefully that makes her feel welcome."

"What about research materials?"

"We usually purchase new charcoal and parchment every week or so. There should be enough for all of us."

"Do you have your own library in the other private wing?"

"Absolutely. My husband and I regularly re-read the materials and always look forward to new publishings."

"Do you have any material on Talos?"

Frier stiffened, her eyes going wide. "N-no, my Jarl… after the treaty, everything was confiscated and we didn't think to—"

Elisif nodded her head and held up a steadying hand. "I understand. While I'm certain this Jora will bring her own materials, but I also do not want her to think we haven't updated our resources. I will send a messenger to our local general store owner to keep an eye out for books on Talos being sold by travelers, and I am certain that the Bards College may have some materials we can loan. I'll have to write a letter to the College of Winterhold to see if they also have spare copies of written texts they would be willing to sell; they have the largest library in Skyrim, after all."

Frier still seemed agitated. "My Jarl, I am so, so sorry. It completely slipped my mind."

Elisif reassured her with a small smile. "Again, I am here to make sure you have everything you need. You have done an excellent job. The Temple of the Divines has its own small purse from donations to acquire necessities, but it traditionally derives its resources from outside aid, such as the throne of Haafingar and other charities."

Frier bowed her head. "Thank you, Jarl Elisif."

Elisif touched her arm, and gently guided her into a straightened position.

"Now, enough of this. All this stress is giving me a headache. I would love to sit and pray with you, if you don't mind. It has been too long."

—

A knock came on Elisif's door that evening as she was composing letters to the local college and the mage's college in Winterhold. She even had a few spare bits of paper that she would ask a courier to hand to travelers who might have come into contact with the texts she needed, stating that she would pay a fine price for them. Raising her head, she simply said, "Enter."

The double doors opened gently, and she was surprised to see Balgruuf the Greater in her threshold.

Elisif tapped the nib of her quill on the lip of the ink pot before setting the feather aside. She stood from her desk and delicately brushed the wrinkles from the lap of her dress.

"My lord," she greeted, and gestured to a set of chairs. "Please, come sit with me."

Balgruuf seemed slightly uncomfortable, having never been in Elisif's private chambers, and for a moment she felt a pang of sympathy for him. Despite her hospitality, he was in a foreign Hold's castle which was entirely unfamiliar to him, save for his few diplomatic visits he had made over the years. If Balgruuf loved his own home as much as she cherished her beloved Solitude, he no doubt desperately missed every stone of the walls, the carved dragon heads on each home, and his private chambers where he and his family could find solace from the world.

Balgruuf found his way into one of the low chairs, shifting his sword away from his leg to sit comfortably. Elisif sat beside him.

"I am always more than happy to receive any of my honored guests for a meeting or a visit, although I suspect you have come here for more than that. Have you thought about my proposal, Balgruuf?" she inquired politely.

"Yes." He leaned forward, and looked up at her. "I have decided to stay, as had Idgrod and Igmund."

Elisif's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared behind her circlet.

"Really?" she breathed. "This morning, I had thought…"

"We merely were concerned for you, Jarl Elisif," he assured. "I apologize. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression before I had given your proposals fair consideration."

Elisif breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, but what about Siddgeir?"

Balgruuf blew air out of his nose in deprecation. "The boy has always had strong ties to the Empire. He is taking your offer of safe passage to Cyrodiil, where he believes he will be welcome and far more comfortable."

"As I said, I respect all of your decisions either way," Elisif repeated. "But what of you three? Why have you all elected to stay?"

"Skyrim is our home, Jarl Elisif. Even without our thrones, we still care about the Holds we looked after, the lives of our people, and the kingdom altogether. We are not going to lay down and do nothing until the day we die, nor can we run away licking our wounds. Our ancestors have ruled, fought, and died for this country, and their blood has seeped into the soil. The Nords of Skyrim have a connection to this land, and there will be no redemption or peace for us if we leave this place. Skyrim will need as many champions as it can to combat the damage Ulfric has done and will continue to do, and you are the last hope."

Elisif touched a hand to her cheek, resting her elbow on the armrest and gazing into his eyes intently. She had never taken notice before, but his eyes were a deep blue that welled with wisdom, honor, and strength, and his countenance was one of such integrity that it stirred something inside her: something that felt like hope, which abandoned her with Tullius's death.

"You will teach me how to help my people and appease Ulfric?"

Balgruuf returned her gaze, his eyes bright like fire.

"My Jarl, we are going to teach you how to _rule_. And we're going to start immediately."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

_Elisif was enamored with Torygg the first time she laid eyes on him. Although he wore his hair in the style of the Nords and sported a full beard entirely unlike the grooming of the handsome men of court in Cyrodiil, his eyes were set kindly and deeply on gentle face that radiated composure and warmth. She had met him briefly during his diplomatic visits to Cyrodiil while he was still just a Jarl of Solitude, and her father took those visits as opportunities to present his only child to him and proffer her hand in marriage._

_During those times, she stole small conversations with him whenever she could, preening and looking up at him coquettishly through her eyelashes as she had seen many of her girlhood friends do in the presence of their objects of infatuation. The Imperials complained of the brutish Nords they shared borders with, but Torygg had a deep, comforting laugh that made her cheeks flush like a smitten child when it was directed at her, and he was anything but a barbarian. Educated, comely, well-spoken, a patron of the arts: he was as kingly a man as any she could have imagined, and she was desperately in love with the idea of being love._

_Their courtship was shorter than most Imperial arranged marriages. Shortly after his last visit, Torygg had assumed the throne of High King, and was eager to have a queen sit beside him. They courted and wed in the Nordic fashion._

_At their wedding they danced, drank, and got to know each other for the first time. He sallied her with sweet words and expensive gifts, and held her with such tenderness that she melted into his touch. She tasted mead for the first time that night and sputtered, and Torygg laughed and dabbed an embroidered napkin to her lips, motioning for the serving boy to bring sweet wine instead. She wanted to love him more than anything, and that night she lay in his arms and decided that this was what love felt like, and no one could tell her otherwise._

_Their nuptial clothing carefully removed and folded on the bedroom dresser, Torygg folded her in his embrace and kissed her on the cheek._

_"You are my queen, my Fair Elisif," he whispered, and they gazed out at the stars together from the royal bed in her new palace. "We will rule Skyrim in peace together."_

_"I do not know how to rule, my King."_

_Elisif rolled over to look him apologetically in the eyes, and he took her cheek in one hand and kissed her brow, as soft as a feather._

_"Torygg," he urged her kindly. "Please."_

_Elisif's cheeks flushed again in the dark, and she nuzzled closer to him, at peace._

_"Then worry not. I shall rule, and you will stand at my side."_

_"Always, Torygg" Elisif whispered. "I will be at your side always."_

"Is the bath to your liking, Jarl Elisif?"

Elisif opened her eyes to find a sweet-faced girl of sixteen - one of her new servants - standing to the side with a silver pitcher in her hand. Elisif did not know her name, nor would she make an effort to learn it. Igmund, having ruled over a court that constantly feared invasion of Forsworn agents into the city, had advised that she routinely purge her household servants and hire new faces to prevent the establishment of long-term spies. Elisif only kept Una and Erdi, the two servants who were employed in Torygg's time, and would replace the rest within weeks.

Elisif leaned back against the wooden tub, protected from splinters by a linen lining, and gestured to a series of vials on a nearby dresser.

"Some lavender oil would be lovely. The crystal vial. Then you may leave."

The young servant bobbed her head enthusiastically and retrieved the vial, adding a few drops to the steaming water. Elisif sank deeply into the bath as her servant closed the door behind her, her head held above the water level by her arms wrapped around the lip of the tub.

The lavender mixed with the steam and Elisif's eyes fluttered in contentment, breathing deeply as she closed them again and let her mind wander as the hot water soothed the aches in her body.

Her arms slipped into the water, and she favored her hands, where she twisted her golden wedding band endlessly around her finger. She had yet to remove it even once since the day it was placed there in the Temple of the Divines. Although her marriage to Torygg had been short - no more than a few months - she still held him close to her heart.

It had been many weeks since Balgruuf the Greater had first visited her in these very chambers. Since then, she had very few moments to relax like this. Every morning at dawn she visited the Temple of the Divines to commune with the gods and speak with the priestess Jora who had arrived not long after her visit with Freir, returning to the Blue Palace just in time to hold court and receive the complaints and pleas from her people, which seemed to never end; then, at the end of the day, she sent her courtiers home and spent her nightly hours with her council either in her chambers or meeting in the basement. Depending on how long her council ran, she attempted to seize a few hours of sleep before her routine began anew each day.

As she soaked into the bathwater, she felt the tingling of a salve Sybille had prepared for her to put under her eyes to decrease the darkness and puffiness there. Whenever she did not sleep, she decided not to show it, to her court or to her people; her presentation of self mattered to her, especially now.

Elisif had since done away with her low tables and chairs, instead commissioning a table suitable for a war council tailored to her room, where her new advisors would fit comfortably in her chambers.

Those who defamed Torygg clearly knew not the burden it meant to be Jarl or High King; although her advisors were a source of invaluable skill and experience, Torygg had spent his whole life to prepare for the position as Jarl, and she was attempting to know everything he knew and more in a matter of weeks.

Fortunately, her upbringing in the Imperial city meant that she was well-versed in courtly manners and diplomacy, far more so than her Nord counterparts - although that had a lot more to do with culture with anything else. Being raised as a lady, however, meant that that was the extent of her abilities, aside from acquiring husbands, running his household, and the womanly arts. If that knowledge had been enough, she would still be sitting beside her husband. These skills would do her nothing to keep her Hold from falling apart, nor do anything to help her rule her people competently without the utter reliance on her Steward, which she wished to change. To rule as a Jarl, and not just as his wife, she needed to know everything there was to know about statesmanship and warfare. Igmund stressed the importance of commerce and defensibility, as his capital city had once been known as the most impenetrable city in Skyrim from within and without, impossible for invaders break in to and impossible for those incarcerated to break out of. He taught her about warfare, about utilizing Solitude's high ground and the mountains, and shared with her the stories and lessons of the many great war leaders of the past and their battle theories, as well as the more sneaky side of warfare: infiltration and espionage, and ways to protect herself from such a front. Admittedly, she didn't have much of a head for warfare, and although she appreciated his lessons, they were difficult for her to think about. Balgruuf, on the other hand, whose Hold had always been the most peaceful and prosperous of the nine, had much to teach her on utilizing the resources of her Hold and attracting new businesses that would bring about stability and prosperity. His knowledge of court politics, who to tax, how much to tax, who to subsidize, and how to stay composed in times of strife were all useful lessons to her. She admired his lordship over Whiterun while it lasted, and knew he was a fine example to look to for education and inspiration. Idgrod had much to say on the significance of understanding every inch of one's land, and they pored over maps together of both Skyrim and more detailed cartography of Haafingar and its neighbors to better understand the land. "A Jarl should know detailed information about every blade of grass in her Hold without having to look at a map," she said once, and Elisif gained confidence as she grew to know her Hold more intimately than she ever thought possible. Her conversations with Balgruuf, Igmund, and Idgrod concerning Skyrim's histories and legends were her favorite, as she was a stranger to this land - despite being a Nord - and each story intensified the yearning she had to know more. Idgrod, being the eldest, always shared the best tales and tellings of historical events, and her desks were filled with parchments of copied-down stories both mythical and true.

Warfare may not be her forte, but Elisif certainly had an appreciation for politic and statesmanship, and she was more than ready to learn from her advisors, whom she trusted explicitly. More than that, she was eager to prove herself.

Her room was once tidy, filled with oddments and expensive baubles from around Skyrim; now, her tables and desks were filled with papers, books, maps, and pages of note-taking. She had never been a fastidious student of topics beyond the womanly arts back in her girlhood days, but now she craved the information with a rapacious hunger that she vowed outmatched that of Alduin's own to swallow the world.

When Torygg reigned, she had no part in the rule of her Hold, and that was by choice. She trusted him to do the right thing for their people, and he trusted her to rule their palace. One defeated in the war, she could have fled home to Cyrodiil and been received with utmost sympathy; instead, she chose to stay in Skyrim to honor Torygg's memory and stand by his side as she had promised on their wedding night, even though death had parted them. So far, it hadn't worked - and now, she had to find her own way.

A sudden chill caused gooseflesh to ripple across her skin, and with a shiver Elisif opened her eyes and noticed that the steam was gone. The water had gone cold, and the scent of lavender faded.

Ruefully, Elisif planted the heels of her hands on the lip of the giant circular tub and eased out of the water, a greater shiver washing over her as she dashed for her robe. Normally, her servants would be there to receive her with towels and robes, but she enjoyed the time to ruminate on the former Jarls' teachings without them hovering over her in the corner of the room.

Fresh towels were folded on one of her nightstands, and she wrapped one around the damp edges of her hair. As she worked the towel into her hair, the glint of her wedding band in the candlelight caught her eye. Pausing, she held her hand out in front of her to admire it, and fond memories of Torygg filled her mind, albeit tinged with a hint of sadness.

She stared at the ring until some uncomfortable thoughts bubbled forth, unbidden, from the back of her mind. They whispered that Torygg hadn't done her any favors while they were married, by letting her sit like a pretty doll on the throne rather than rule, but she forcefully shoved the thought away in anger and rushed to dry her hair and change into a simple dress to receive visitors.

A pair of servants silently entered the room and drained the tub, carrying it away to storage while Elisif took her seat at the long table, papers in hand and reviewing her notes. It was late in the day, but she still had much to do.

Not long after her servants had left her, she heard a familiar knock at the door and bid her advisors inside, where they took their respective places around the table. By now, they were comfortable in their routine.

"Forgive my present appearance, my lords and ladies," she commenced, "I have just taken a bath, and my hair is still wet. I mean no disrespect."

"We are your guests, in your home, Jarl Elisif," Idgrod smiled. "There is no disrespect given."

"You have my thanks. Where shall we start tonight?"

"You are learning at an impressive rate, Jarl Elisif," Balgruuf complimented, "Where would you like to start?"

"Your tutelage over the past few weeks has grown my knowledge of my own kingdom immensely. For over a year I was a stranger among my own people, and now I am kindling a connection with my kinsmen's homeland. For my part, your advice has helped me assist my own people when they come to my court looking for guidance, and now I am forming relationships with them. This means more to me than you can know, and will continue to pay dividends the longer I remain on the throne.

"Nevertheless, you all know that day-to-day affairs, while important, are the least of the worries that keep me up at night. I still have no way to pay Ulfric's debt, much less refill my treasury depleted during the war to help rebuild my own Hold. All of you have experience with conflict and rebuilding: where do you suggest I start?"

Igmund cleared his throat, and when he caught Elisif's gaze he offered her a small smile. "Perhaps you forget, Jarl, but I, too, was a young Jarl, particularly for the Reach. Not as young as you, of course, but I understand your frustration. I had to rebuild after the Forsworn uprising caused irreparable harm to my city and the Hold itself."

"It may not alleviate my dues to Ulfric, but carry on," Elisif encouraged, interested.

Balgruuf joined in the conversation, as if the two had rehearsed prior to their meeting. "We were discussing this earlier, Jarl," he said. "We may help you kill two birds with one stone."

"Not any one of us, with all of our experience and resources, could face the problems you are currently staring down on our own," Idgrod conceded. "So you need not put as much pressure on yourself as you think."

Normally, their cryptic talk would have frustrated or dazed her, but weeks of working with her mentors had taught her to sharpen her focus and patiently wait for their guidance. "Go on."

Balgruuf lead the rest of the conversation.

"By now you know that Ulfric's demands were impossible. My Jarl, you need to begin to see the hidden motivations behind every action and the unspoken truths in every word. Ulfric, for all of his faults, is no fool. Before we approach the topic of his demands, first ask yourself: why would he give you a list of impossible demands? Why would he ask things of you that he knows you, nor anyone else, could ever do?"

Rather than looking to them for aid, Elisif searched inside herself for an answer. "Because…" she eased out slowly, "… Because I cannot do them."

A glimmer of pride flashed across Balgruuf's eyes, and Elisif's cheeks warmed when she knew she found the right answer. "Exactly," Balgruuf nodded stoically, although she could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "He expects you not to. That's the point. He wants you to fail, _needs_ you to fail - that is how he controls you. Keeping the pressure on you is the only way he can do that from all the way across Skyrim, even with an army of men in this city. If you are miserable and running yourself ragged to do the impossible, you have no time for anything else and are of no threat to him. That way, he can focus his attention elsewhere - and do not be fooled, my Jarl, he has many worries apart from you. He cannot spend all of his attention on you while rebuilding himself, preparing for the moot, and planning another war."

"He told me that these were the conditions to keep my throne."

"They are, in a way. He certainly expects you to try, but I doubt he expects you to succeed, at least not completely. He very specifically spared your life at the end of the war and allowed you to remain Jarl here in Solitude. That wasn't just to look like a merciful conqueror to gain your people's trust and reaffirm his honorability to his own followers. Right now, having a crippled Jarl on the throne of Solitude, the favored Hold of the Empire, is better than finding a replacement, because it sends a message. General Galmar is also very busy himself with training new recruits and keeping his eyes on all the other Jarls, who are cutting their teeth for their new roles. I find it unlikely he will depose you - he likely only means to scare you, and keep you busy for many years to come."

"So, what do I do, then?" Elisif asked, stroking her chin delicately. "Do I play to his wishes and live miserably for the rest of my life in fear? I should think not."

The three former Jarls at the table chuckled.

"No, I should think not as well," Balgruuf cracked a smile. "He wants you to fail. If you do, he wins. The only way he fails is if you don't. We are all here to spare you every last reserve of our wisdom and experience to make sure that you succeed, because if you can succeed, then you win." Balgruuf's small smile widened. "And he loses. That's something that we will gladly stay in Skyrim to see."

Elisif sat back into her chair, relaxed but not slumping. She steepled her fingers in front of her.

"Teach me to win."

"You already have all the tools, my Jarl," Igmund asserted. "All you need is a little aid from us. As we said, this debt is insurmountable alone, but in this room you have three former Jarls who know their Holds better than Ulfric's replacements do. To rebuild your treasury and begin paying Ulfric his reparations, you need to start by breaking free from the isolation of Haafingar, and form relationships with your neighbors."

Elisif arched a fine brow. "Form relationships with my new neighbors who despised me throughout the war, and now have the political power to exert their displeasure? I would see the wisdom were you three on the throne, but the new Jarls…"

"True, they did not support your bid for High Queen," Igmund interrupted. "And those in charge now were fervent followers of Ulfric himself during his rebellion. But, as my esteemed friend Balgruuf mentioned, the new Jarls have no experience in ruling from a Hold's throne, and they are leaning heavily on Galmar to legitimize their authority. Whether or not they like you personally, they will not be able to turn down assistance, no matter where it comes from.

"I recommend that you begin with your western neighbor, Markarth. Although the Silver-Bloods have a hot temper, the elder brother Thongvor is now Jarl, and his younger brother Thonar is a businessman, and they may be open to lines of communication. Now that my family is gone, they are the wealthiest family in the Reach, and hold all the political and economic power in the Hold; however, they will need help organizing to rebuild their forts and coffers. The Silver-Bloods are wealthy, but they have very little vision past their silver and gold mines. Your Hold has more resources than you think, Jarl: it is your job to understand these resources and utilize this to your best advantage. Find them, and seek them out."

Elisif's nodded slowly as Igmund spoke. He retrieved a rolled-up sheet of parchment, and carefully unfurled it. He pushed it towards Elisif at the end of the table.

She smoothed out the spacious parchment across the table, and found it to be a very detailed map of the Holds of Haafingar and the Reach. It looked new and specially-made for her.

"I hope this map gives you the inspiration you seek. My Uncle has a gift with cartography, and he served as Steward for many years. You will not find a more accurate map anywhere in the kingdom."

The corners of Elisif's lips twitched up slightly, and she gently smoothed her fingers over the map again.

"This is beautiful work, Igmund. Thank you, and your uncle."

"My pleasure, my Jarl."

"I do lament that my Hold is not nearly as bountiful as yours was, my lord Balgruuf," she chuckled softly. "I have always envied your bountiful plains and fields of game and farms."

"I wouldn't say that," Balgruuf assured. "I agree, Whiterun is blessed in its geography, but Igmund speaks truthfully when he says that your Hold has plenty of resources to be used for the good of your people and of Skyrim."

Idgrod cackled. "As much as Hjaalmarch is in my blood, I would have given nearly anything to have the bounty you have waiting for you, Elisif."

Now, Elisif felt like they were teasing her. The past few weeks they fed her information; now, they appeared to be urging her to find the answers for herself.

"Bounty?" she asked incredulously. "I feel as though all manner of wealth has left my Hold! Haafingar's wealth came almost entirely from trade and commerce from the East Empire Trading Company right here in this city - but the outpost was abandoned after Vittoria Vici's assassination, and with Imperial ships no longer patrolling the Sea of Ghosts, no one within the company is willing to take her place. I have searched for local ship captains willing to fill the void, but with piracy at an all-time high thanks to the lack of naval protection, no one is willing to step forward. For now, so long as the Empire remains weak, and oppressive piracy threatens our maritime trade, it appears that our major source of wealth is cut off."

"The loss of the East Empire Trading Company has undoubtedly hurt your Hold," Balgruuf agreed, "but—"

"—when you lose your main source of income, you must look for other alternatives," Igmund finished.

"From what you are implying, I will need to seek out new business ventures and incentivize my people to act. All these things cost money. I barely have enough to keep my Hold intact."

"We understand, Jarl. But in this case, you _will_ have to invest for the future of your Hold. Unless you can find other options among pre-existing businesses, you will need to expand your agency across your holdings."

Balgruuf interjected gently, "You are not powerless, Elisif - no matter how much the Stormcloaks will try and make you feel that way."

Elisif glanced down at the map, drumming her fingers on the table. She thought for a moment, and decided to rise to the challenge.

"No," she whispered. "I am not." And she began to believe it.

Elisif stood, and so did her guests. She smiled tiredly at them.

"I thank you, my friends. You have given me much to think about. I will ruminate on our meeting here, and shall consult you in a few days when your inspiration bears fruit."

The former Jarls murmured their farewells. The hour was late, and they wasted no time in leaving their host to her few remaining hours of relaxation.

Elisif, her hair dry, tossed aside her towel and looked at her bed invitingly, when another knock came at her door. She stifled a groan, and invited the knocker in.

To her chagrin, it was Erikur who was at the door.

"Jarl Elisif," he greeted.

"My Thane," she returned politely. "Forgive me, but the hour is late. I am not dressed to receive visitors."

Erikur stepped further into the room, disregarding the subtle attempt to dissuade him.

"No?" he asked, with one eyebrow arched disbelievingly. "My apologies, I thought that you worked nearly all hours these days. I would have waited until morning, but I will have some business that will keep me away from the court tomorrow, so I wished to convey my congratulations. The Thanes are impressed with your command of court, Jarl Elisif. It seems to me that you have grown immeasurably in the past few weeks. I see that you took my advice," Erikur preened, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "How fares your new advising body?"

"Well, Thane. I have complimented your head for business before, and you have served me well. I thank you for your assistance on this matter."

Erikur nodded and flourished his arms in a bow. "Of course, Jarl. I shall leave you to your rest."

Elisif held in a sigh until after her Thane left the room and the double doors closed. Weary, she steadied herself on the post of her bed, sinking slowly onto the mattress with a feeling of deep relief.

Another knock came at the door, and this time Elisif audibly groaned.

"Erikur…" she edged impatiently, before turning and finding Idgrod once more at her door. "Oh, Lady Idgrod, forgive me, I thought you were… never mind. What do you need?"

Idgrod smiled apologetically, and motioned for Elisif to stay seated.

"Forgive me, Jarl. I know you are exhausted, and I will try to make this quick. I am of an age where forgetfulness is unfortunately becoming more common. I have a gift for you. It may be humble but I hope it serves you well."

Two servants came in carrying large crates that they labored to keep level in their arms, and when they set them down with a 'thud' onto the floor the contents shifted. Elisif glanced inside and saw that they were stuffed with tomes, scrolls, and published works.

Elisif slid from her mattress and kneeled beside the crates, tenderly stroking the ornate spines of the books.

"This is incredible," Elisif breathed, hush with appreciation at the sheer assortment.

"These tomes have been my source of strength throughout my career. They are scholastic works on Skyrim, histories and poems, songs and legends, complete collections of written works, and they will provide you with the information that you might need to help govern not only your own Hold, but obtain a better understanding of the region in general. To look at me you may not know it, but I was once a young Jarl myself, and I always turned to books as a source of greater understanding and knowledge. We shall do our best to advise you in person, but I always say that knowledge is the best weapon any Jarl can have. These are not books, but tools, to hone your own edification: your mind is a weapon that will never grow dull so long as you continue to ply it with further education. They have served me well over the years, but you need them now more than me, and I am more than willing to pass them on."

The young Jarl brushed her fingertips lightly over the contents of the crates once more before straightening herself.

"I thank you for the thoughtful gift, Idgrod. I can promise you they will be put to good use. How did you come by these?"

"They were from my own personal library, back in Morthal before… well, you know. I managed to bring as much as I could with me when my family fled from my home. I had a feeling they might be needed. Even studying them for a half hour or so before bed will work wonders for your own self-education and confidence, I promise you."

A lump formed in Elisif's throat, and when she tried to swallow through it her dry throat enlarged the forming knot. She gave her visitor a meaningful look.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Idgrod smiled, and politely averted her eyes to take in the room.

"You have a beautiful palace, Jarl Elisif, as well as a beautiful city. My Hold was nothing like yours on the surface; however, your court reminds me of my own, in some ways," Idgrod mused. "And you remind me of myself, in some ways. As soon as I approached the gates of Solitude, I could feel the shadow that looms over the city. I ruled over Hjaalmarch for twenty-five years, and I was always at the center of some sort of speculation and rumor. When you live out in the marshes like we did, with the strange lights and sounds, most inhabitants develop their own stubborn superstitions and fears - and perhaps not unjustifiably. The people of Hjaalmarch are even more superstitious than most Nords already are, and because of this, they always had difficulties trusting in my rule."

Elisif's brow furrowed. "I am sorry, my Lady, but I do not understand…"

"No?" Idgrod smiled mysteriously. "I thought all of Skyrim knew. Magic runs deep in my family's bloodline, child, although my son and I take more strongly to it than my daughter. I have visions, Jarl, images that the Divines send to me at their pleasure."

"You're a seer?" Elisif gasped, although she covered her mouth as soon as the sound passed her lips so as to not appear disrespectful.

Idgrod, however, didn't seem to mind. "So I am called, among many other things. I have acquired these names over the years because I do not hide my abilities in shame. They are a gift. Anyone who thinks otherwise can neither understand nor appreciate their significance."

"I didn't know that," Elisif murmured. "So, this war, my husband's murder… did you see any of it coming?"

A great shadow passed over Idgrod's face. Despite her age and the wrinkles on her face, she always projected great wit and focus to those around her; now, she seemed wilted.

"No," she said somberly. "It does not work like that, I am afraid. I am a servant to the Divines, not the other way around. Only they discern when I see things, whether it is convenient for man or not. They have their own way, you understand. And even when I do receive a vision, some are clear, and others are merely omens or feelings…"

"That's a shame. I suppose that means you cannot discern who among my city is a Stormcloak spy, then?" she joked.

They both shared a smile, and Idgrod chuckled once more, her face a mask of shrewdness once again.

"I wish it did work that way, Jarl. I truly do. But I still take my gifts as they are. I suspect that my son will be an even greater seer than I someday, and my daughter can find greater control over her gift if she allows herself to accept it. I will say this, though: it does not take a seer to know that your court is not under your control. My powers of observation exist outside of my abilities, and from what I have seen, your court is divided, and they are not in complete support of you. Even those who do claim to support you do not trust you to lead them. I agree with the esteemed Balgruuf and Igmund that forming relationships with the new Jarls is important to cement your rule and address your debts, but you have internal problems to deal with as well that are equally important. As long as you allow your courtiers to gossip behind your back, they will not respect you - and if they do not respect you, they will gainsay your judgements and will not always advise you in _your _best interest."

Elisif thought back to the raucous laughter that echoed, humiliatingly, through the archways of the Blue Palace. She thought about the guilty looks they gave her. She thought about the way they looked to Falk after she spoke to see if he would agree or override her decision. Even with the former Jarls' tutelage, they hesitated to accept her decisions.

Difficult as it was to accept, it was not difficult to see wisdom when it was in front of her.

"You have dealt with issues such as this before, I take it?" she asked knowingly.

Idgrod nodded. "I have been fighting rumor, gossip, and ignorance my entire life, and have been proving myself for years."

Elisif swiftly looked about the room, and silently went to the doorway and softly closed the double doors. When she turned to face her guest, she shook off her exhaustion to the best of her ability and guided them once more to the table. She poured her guest some wine from a nearby jug into a goblet.

"Where would you advise I start?" Elisif asked, her gaze intent and eager on Idgrod.

"It will take time for your Steward to trust in your leadership, but he plainly adores you and wants to protect you. I would start with your Thanes."

"How?"

"Bryling is loyal, but she is a warrior who will respect your strength when she sees it emerge. Start with Erikur. He is likely the source of the gossip. The more you respond with embarrassment to the rumors, the greater the rumors will spread. I have abated the rumors by being open about my gifts: you should do the same, by being more open about who you meet with and when."

That might be difficult, but Elisif nodded at the advice.

"I fear that it goes deeper than that. He was your husband's Thane, correct? He may have respected the late High King, but he shows none to you. Bring him to heel, and make him work for you. By putting him in his place, the other Thanes will fall in line."

"How would you recommend I start?"

Idgrod smiled.

"Most people are wary of what I am, but I have found _his_ kind to always be the more dangerous beast. He is a businessman, correct? He owns most of the merchant property, yet is doing nothing to support the war reparations?" Idgrod drank deeply from the spiced wine, hiding a wry smirk behind her goblet. "I would sent someone you trust to get ahold of his accounts. See how much he makes, and how much he is hiding from you."

Elisif's eyes widened. "You think he is stealing from the treasury?"

"Businessmen are masters at avoiding paying their fair share. His concern is making money: keeping it follows shortly after. He has been able to run his own affairs by himself for far too long, and there is danger letting only one man handle almost all the wealth of the city. Time will tell if his loyalty is only to himself. He may be a Thane, but that is a privilege granted by the throne. He is still your citizen and a member of what is now your court, and he is accountable to your laws. See to it that he is following them. If not, take what is yours. If he is, then your oversight of his affairs might be enough to keep him in line."

"He will not give up those ledgers and accounts willingly."

Idgrod took in her reflection in the wine before she drained her cup and laughed.

"Well then, Elisif, you must remind him who is Jarl!"

—

A/N: I apologize if this chapter is wordy and full of text. It is a necessary step for the progression of the story. Bear with me, as more exciting things are yet to come.

Feedback is always appreciated - let me know your thoughts, feelings, ideas, etcetera! I have to give a huge "Thank you" to everyone who has taken the time to favorite and review - you guys always bring a smile to my face, and motivate me to continue this story! :)


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

_Elisif's tutor was a wiry man named Caelinus, and he had a nose so long and beak-like that she felt like he was always glancing down at her like a hawk eyeing a rabbit. He had been a private tutor for many noble children over the years, and her father had retained him for their personal use when she was seven._

_ Elisif didn't like Caelinus. He always carried a thin cane, and although he had yet to use it on her, she kept an eye on it and always kept her hands out of swinging distance when he was displeased with her performance._

_ As he rambled on about the history of Cyrodiil, Elisif looked out the library window, bored. She could hear the tinkling laughter of her friends down below, likely sitting out in the garden and working on their needlework. She longed to be out there with them. It was too beautiful a day for lessons, and she longed to be sewing amongst the flowers with her friends rather than listening to Caelinus crow on and on about the Empire so much like a bird chattering from his perch._

_ She was startled out of her thoughts when that thin cane smacked hard on the wood of her desk and she nearly jumped out of her skin._

_ "Young lady," Caelinus reprimanded, "Are you listening, or is your father paying me to talk to myself?"_

_ Elisif lowered her eyes to her table demurely, humbled. "No, Master Caelinus. I apologize."_

_ Caelinus huffed. "Fine. Since it seems that you have no interest in the history of this great Empire, perhaps we can speak of a topic that will hold your very fickle attention. Your governess tells me that you are a devoted student of the Divines."_

_ Elisif perked up, despite herself. "Yes, Master Caelinus. I love the teachings of Mara and Kynareth."_

_ "Very well. What do you know of our god Zenithar?"_

_ "He is… he is one of the patron deities of the Empire… right?" she asked weakly._

_ "Indeed he is. Do you know anything about him?"_

_ Elisif quickly tucked her knuckles into her sleeves before answering, just in case. "No, Master. I haven't gotten that far in my studies." _

_ "That is all right, child. You will learn. Zenithar," he continued, and his grip loosened on the cane, which released a sigh of relief from Elisif, "is the god of labor, wealth, and commerce. Because of the Empire's great success in trade, many do consider him one of the patron Divines of Cyrodiil, and that it is with his blessing that we prosper. However, he does not believe in money acquired through theft, deceit, or bloodshed of war: instead, he demands integrity and strength from his followers to work hard and labor honestly in order to find life's material and spiritual rewards."_

_ Elisif listened quietly for a moment, before hesitantly responding, "I heard some men in the city talking about how the war was good for business."_

_ Caelinus scowled. "Yes, child, some men find profit in war, but whatever money is made there is covered in the blood of those who died."_

_ "So it is blasphemy to gain riches during war or through conflict," Elisif surmised._

_ "To Zenithar, yes. True rewards come to the practitioner through honest work. Those are the key to long-term peace and prosperity."_

First Seed had finally come to a close, bringing in the first day of Rain's Hand. The chill of spring's opening weeks had finally abated, and Elisif kept the windows next to her private study open, bringing in the scent of salt from the Sea of Ghosts and the gentle warmth of the morning sun. The previous month the farmers had planted their crops, and with the seasonal rains, they had begun to sprout, heralding a new season of growth and renewal.

All across Tamriel, the common folk celebrated the seventh day of First Seed as the day of First Planting, rejoicing in the proper first month of spring. In Solitude, however, the farmers also exulted in the second month of spring when the fruits of their labor began to appear as the seeds were brought to sprout, bright and fresh, from the mountain soil. The Nords labored hard to grow anything in Skyrim's soil, and they took each blessing as it came. Through the open window, she could hear the chatter of the people far below on the avenue and the music of the bards.

Elisif paused in her work, and listened to the sounds of her people outside. Today, the people of Haafingar travelled to Solitude to celebrate. Her court was closed for the day, and the Bards College was organizing another Burning of King Olaf, which would leave the town feasting, drinking, and dancing for a day and a night. Ever since Elisif had given Viarmo her blessing, the Bards College organized the event more and more frequently to distract her people from the current troubles. Were she not so entrenched in her own affairs, having a rare break from holding court, she might visit the Festival herself.

Erdi offered her a glass of weak wine, but Elisif politely turned her down.

"No thank you, Erdi. I have to keep my wits. Please, feel free to take the day off with the rest of Haafingar. You deserve a break from your duties. Go celebrate with the rest of the city. Tell Una the same."

Erdi's innocent face brightened. "Truly, Jarl Elisif? Thank you, my Lady, thank you!"

Elisif smiled after her servant as she set aside her pitcher and bowed her way out of the room, before turning her attention back to the many papers in front of her.

Igmund's map was as much a true work of art as it was a shining example of experienced cartography. Each Hold's major city was marked by the crest of the throne: in Haafingar, Solitude was marked by the sigil of the wolf, and Markarth was the image of a ram, hidden deep in the mountains. Each Hold's boundaries were delineated perfectly, with mountain ranges and rivers and lakes down to every last tributary and detail.

Elisif traced the Hold boundaries softly with a finger, before lingering on the mountains.

Elisif took in a sharp breath. _The mountains, of course!_

Elisif leaned in closer to the map, eyeing the southern border of her Hold that she shared with Markarth. Igmund's words came back to her from the night before: "_The Silver-Bloods are wealthy, but they have very little vision past their silver and gold mines._"

The past weeks, Elisif had begun learning about every major source of business in each Hold, as well as their types of resources. Markarth was known most obviously for its well-established silver mines, although they were blessed with gold and other ore mines as well. The veins of silver were so lucrative, they had little interest in other avenues of profit. It was rumored that they also made money through corruption, but their legitimate business lay exactly in their name.

Elisif's tapped the southern border of Haafingar, noting that she shared some of those mountains with Markarth.

"Haafingar and the Reach share a mountain range," she murmured, and immediately fumbled for some of the good parchment in her desk.

The Silver-Bloods certainly had a narrow field of vision, but it wasn't until just now that Elisif realized she suffered from the same. The wealth that filled her coffers from the Empire kept her and the people of Solitude satisfied, and their economy had no diversity - now, she could no longer rely on trade to keep the city afloat.

Much of Haafingar was untamed land, save for the immediate areas around the city, where there were farms and lumber mills. Along the north to southwest was a wide swath of unsettled land, mostly mountains, that were only touched by old roads cobbled by her predecessors.

The Silver-Bloods were so preoccupied with their Inn and mines that they had no stone quarries, but the mountains had more wealth in them than just ore: particularly now, when Skyrim was ravaged by the war was in dire need of stone for rebuilding walls and forts. The Holds that stood loyal to the Empire had sustained serious damage as Ulfric's army tore through them, and many of the forts and Holds were dire need of good stone from reliable quarries to rebuild their garrisons and the walls of their cities.

Of course, to get to the mountains, the trees would have to be cleared first. As much as stone was in demand for rebuilding, lumber was an even more important necessity, and nearly every Hold in Skyrim was calling on the existing lumber mills to fill their orders. The mills were growing rich with the business, but they could not service every order at once, and many lagged behind in shipments. There was too great a need, and not enough hands or time to satisfy such demand. The Solitude Sawmill was already busy at work along the Karth river, but the war had left many of her former soldiers and citizens destitute - she had no doubt that many of the unemployed men and women in the Hold would jump at the opportunity to not only become landowners, but also become gainfully employed with the blessing of the throne of Haafingar, should she endorse the opening of quarries and mills.

"Two birds with one stone indeed, Igmund," she flushed, feeling a thrill of inspiration run through her.

Logging and mining: two things she had never considered before.

These things would not come easily: the people did not have the money to begin their own businesses, so Elisif would have to scrape what she could from the treasury to supply housing, the framework for a mill to clear away the pine trees, and surveyors to find the best locations to dig for stone, but she trusted that lumbering and stonework were such lucrative businesses that they would pay her back tenfold, if she could find the coin for the initial money might be enough to help her rebuild her Hold, and in time, if it proved profitable, a portion of the income taxed could be used to chip into the vast sum of war reparations.

_This will not be easy, _Elisif thought, _but Zenithar help me, I believe this is the best move I can make._

She would have to speak with Falk about the logistics of opening new businesses in an uninhabited region of her Hold, so she would save the necessary paperwork for an established meeting.

In the meantime, however, she took some of her parchment and began writing up the charters necessary to establish a lumber mill and a quarrying zone. Conferring with the map Igmund had given her, she decided on a patch of land that was nearby the major road system for easy access to ship materials to the new lumber mill and allow for easy transportation of the logging shipments to their buyers. Although she knew her Hold well, she would need to send one of her surveyors to find suitable stone deposits for her quarry before staking out a territory officially. She signed the charters, and all they lacked were the names of those who would buy them, and she was certain that Falk would have an idea who would be trustworthy and hardworking enough in the Hold to answer the call for this duty.

Dipping a fresh quill into her ink pot, she then penned a formal letter to Jarl Thongvor of the Reach, and an identical one to his younger brother, Thonar. Although she knew that they would be desperate for good stone, she crafted the letter with utmost care and courtesy, informing them that she would be establishing businesses along their border, but would never insult them by straying too close to Reach lands; at the end, she added her eagerness to assist them in this age of rebuilding, and would be willing to offer an initial shipment free of charge as a sign of good faith, then later open a line of trade for stone in exchange for silver.

Satisfied, she sprinkled the parchment with sand to set the ink, and gently blew it away. With that done, she poured the heated wax over the fold of the letter, and pressed her ring into the hardening wax to seal it with the wolf's head of Solitude.

She had high hopes for Markarth's response, but she left her fortunes to the Divines, for it was in their hands now.

She set aside the letter, and drafted a similar one to the new Jarl, Sorli the Builder, in Hjaalmarch, who had very little resources save for a few mines and a single lumber mill. She might not get much back in the way of repayment, but her advisors advocated for building relations with her neighbors; Hjaalmarch was in her backyard, and there was no natural boundary between the two save for a river. Gaining rapport with both was essential, and if offering charity to her new neighbor could accomplish that, Elisif was willing to provide, her own debts notwithstanding.

With those done, she set them aside, and would call for a courier to deliver them in the morning.

Leaning back into her chair and stretching her shoulders, which had grown stiff, Elisif felt oddly rejuvenated. She beamed, thinking she had found answers to the problems her advisors left for her to figure out on her own. The noise from the avenue reached her ears again, and her smiled widened.

"Oh, even a Jarl can spare a moment to celebrate," she said to herself, and got to her feet.

Perhaps it was mildly inappropriate - childish, even - to want to meet with her advisors and let them know what she discovered, but she desperately wanted to see them. She respected their opinions, and craved their support. Igmund would be pleased, Idgrod would be satisfied, and Elisif flushed when she thought of that look of pride that she had seen in Balgruuf's eyes the previous night.

Gathering her dress, she hastened for the doorway, but when she flung open the doors she nearly bumped face-first into her Steward, Falk.

"Oh, goodness, you gave me a fright!" she jumped back, her hand fluttering over her heart.

Falk looked just as surprised as she, and was quick to apologize. "Forgive me, Jarl, I should have knocked. Are you all right?"

Elisif laughed as her pulse slowed again. "No forgiveness is necessary. It was I who was in a hurry. I was on my way to—"

She glanced up, and noted six or so Stormcloak soldiers behind him, and froze.

"Have no fear, Jarl Elisif," he assured her. "Look closely."

Elisif did, and found that she knew each of their faces. They wore the armor of their new General, but they were men that had served under Aldis in his time. They were carrying boxes in their arms. She breathed a sigh of relief. These were only soldiers in the city she could trust.

"We did as you requested this morning, Jarl Elisif," Falk said. "We went to Erikur's home and found that he was not there. We retrieved all of his ledgers, accounts, and any other relevant information we could find. Most were in the open, but some were hidden in drawers and secret compartments, as you suggested."

Elisif straightened. "Good. I would like to review what you've found at once. Men, if you please…." she gestured to the long table for where to place their burdens, then dismissed them with their thanks. A small part of her was disappointed that she hadn't the moment to visit her advisors, especially Balgruuf. "Falk, if you wouldn't mind, I would like for you to stay and look at these with me."

Falk's face was set carefully free of expression. "If that is what you wish."

Once they were seated at the table, Elisif took note of Falk's expression. He seemed uncomfortable to be there. She reached a hand across the table to cover one of his.

"Falk?"

Startled, he met her warm eyes. "Jarl?"

"What's on your mind? I can see something is troubling you."

Falk shifted uncomfortably, but she gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I am worried, my Jarl," he confessed. These past few weeks you have grown tremendously, but I am always fear at what cost. I fear that any day Istar and his Stormcloaks will break down the doors in a rage, what with you becoming so close to our guests. Ulfric had little cause to worry when they were merely refugees under your protection, but now they are nearly part of the court with how often you see them…"

"Falk." His hand slid off his face and her voice commanded him to find her eyes again. "There is always risk, whether I take action or inaction. I would rather be punished for trying to improve my people's lives than be constantly harassed by Stormcloaks by showing weakness. I appreciate your concern, but I need what these former Jarls are giving me."

Falk let out a deep breath, but his jaw was still tight. "I know, my Jarl, I know… and you are doing very well."

Elisif gave him a small smile. "Are you jealous that they take away so much of my attention?"

Finally, Falk laughed at the ridiculousness of such a thing. "I do miss you coming to me for advice, but I always want whatever is best for you, Elisif."

"Well, I ask for your advice now. Tell me, how did it go?"

"It went very well. Neither Erikur nor his sister were home, so it was easy to retrieve what we needed without interference. I brought the soldiers with me just in case, but they were not needed."

"Hmmm. Yes, Erikur did say that he would be away on business today, and his sister often visits the properties he owns throughout the day."

Falk's eyebrows raised in surprise. "When did he tell you this?"

"Late last night."

"He visited your quarters late last night?"

"Yes, although I hope it does not become a regular occurrence. He wanted to inform me of his absence and pass on his congratulations from the Thanes that my leadership skills are growing due to his advice." Elisif rolled her eyes, something she rarely ever did even in private, due to the terrible decorum. "Even his compliments seem backhanded."

"I would expect nothing less. But we should look over these accounts before he returns. He will be impossible to deal with when he finds out."

Elisif smiled. "Oh, my dear Steward. My hope is that what we find here _will _make him easier to deal with."

Falk's eyes alighted with interest. "What are we looking for in particular, Jarl Elisif?"

"Anything. Anything out of place."

"As you wish, my Lady."

The two began to work in silence, removing ledgers and papers from the boxes that the soldiers had left. It was mostly dry work, going over his accounts and numbers, but Elisif was learning how to keep a clearer head with numbers, thanks to the time spent with her advisors. If she wanted to remain the head of the Hold treasury, she would have to interpret them and make them work for her.

From what she could see, Erikur was rich - richer than the throne itself, as it currently stood. A part of her had always wondered if his rise to a court position was due to money rather than merit, but it was clear he was a calculated, meticulous businessman, and his notes and accounts were impeccable.

Half an hour into their silent dissection of Erikur's business life, Falk snorted in disgust. "Unbelievable. He's managed to dodge every taxation on his shipping business, and divert them to greater taxes on the farmers and merchants instead. No wonder it's hard for us to refill our coffers and have our farmers make ends meet. If he keeps this up, they won't be able to afford the burden of taxation and we'll lose them."

Elisif's brow furrowed. "He should not have the authority to do that."

Falk scrutinized the papers in his hands more carefully. "He does technically own most of the shops in the Wells District, and is able to raise their taxes as he pleases… however, it should have gone through your approval before any changes were made. He must have slipped it in sometime during the war, when we were all occupied."

"Those people work hard for what money they do make," Elisif muttered bitterly. "The gods frown on those who exploit other for their riches. What is it about his shipping ventures that he doesn't want touched?"

Falk sifted through box after box, until he found the one he was looking for, and set it beside her. "See for yourself. This should contain everything about his involvement in his shipping businesses."

Setting aside the papers in her hands, Elisif delved into the box, and found a new set of ledgers, invoices, and shipping manifests. His ships came into contact with all the major ports along Skyrim, from Windhelm to Dawnstar to Solitude, where he generally made the most profit. She could only think of the Shatter-Shields in Windhelm as possibly being his sole business competitor.

Erikur appeared to trade in anything he could get his hands on: luxury items, food transportation, ores, barrels, lumber… whatever he could make money from, he shipped and sold it. He made an exorbitant profit from it as well, and Elisif thought that no one man should ever need this much money.

_How strange, _Elisif thought. _Most of these manifests show exactly what you would expect for merchant ships, but there are a few outliers here… _

"I didn't realize that Erikur was in business with the Stormcloaks," Elisif murmured, and Falk looked up from his own papers to frown at her.

"What do you mean, my Jarl?"

"Take a look at this."

Elisif slid the page manifest towards him, and pointed out a few lines.

"This was from a merchant ship several weeks ago that he does business with. I didn't realize that Erikur was now supplying the Stormcloaks here in the city. It's a small amount of supplies, only enough for a handful of men, but do you see the invoice for Stormcloak armor and weaponry? Isn't that odd?"

Falk scoffed. "I'm not surprised. He suppled some of our Legionnaires during the war, and I always suspected him of selling high-quality weaponry to the highest bidder during the war - even if that bidder did happen to be the Stormcloaks. I never had any proof, so I couldn't confront him about it. His experience in business has taught him to cover his tracks, but it doesn't surprise me that he is now treating with our new ruler in the name of coin."

Elisif cursed inwardly, pursing her lips to prevent them from flowing out. "I shouldn't be surprised," she said tightly, but anger seethed from her clenched teeth. "But I am disgusted."

Elisif looked over the invoice again, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Then she looked at the next, and the next, and the next. Although she was no master of business, something didn't add up.

"Falk?" she asked. "Can I see Erikur's annual statements from over the years? Did you bring them with you?"

"Of course, my Lady."

Elisif compared them. "Odd. The ship invoices upon pickup of goods in Windhelm say one thing, and his statement of good upon arrival at Solitude match, but if you look here in his personal ledgers," Elisif pointed, "They indicate a much larger haul. But how could that be? If he picked up extra cargo from Dawnstar along the way, we would have paperwork for that, and it would still show up on a statement of declaration when his captains made port here at the Solitude Docks. How could this extra cargo simply materialize _after _the ships dock?"

Falk rose from his chair and sidled up to where Elisif worked, and he glanced at the papers she was scrutinized. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were sharp, focused intently for a few moments before cursing.

"Empty barrels!" he yelled.

"What?"

"Look here!" Falk gestured. "In every manifest he always commissions a shipment of empty barrels! When he arrives, the master of the docks merely looks at the invoice and assumes they're empty. Erikur likely fills them with the excess goods, lets the dockworkers unload them, and that's how he sneaks his extra wealth into the city."

Elisif let a curse fly this time, but Falk was too angry to be startled by his lady's infrequent use of swearing.

"Idgrod was right," she said stiffly, trying to keep from shaking with anger, "he has been stealing from the treasury. He has been keeping extra goods for himself, tax-free, and reaping the profits of selling them. He has even more wealth than he reports to the court, and he keeps it for himself. It appears he's been doing this for years, even during my husband's reign. Torygg rewarded him with a position in court, and Erikur repaid him with—"

Overcome, Elisif squeezed her eyes shut and balled her fists, trying to calm herself down enough to think rationally again.

"My Jarl," Falk called to her in a hushed tone, "you have enough evidence here to bring him up on suspicion of charges, if you would like."

Elisif's eyes snapped open. "No, not yet. We still do not have any inclination as to _how _he gets these extra goods and coin while the ships are on route to Solitude. Without that, he can simply say that it was all a misunderstanding or a mistake with the paperwork. If we confront him prematurely before we have all the answers, he find a way out of his situation, and the next time he will merely cover his tracks better. We can't afford to let that happen, not if we finally plan on bringing Erikur to heel. And I would much rahter rather have a tamed dog than a dead one."

"I would have his head on a spike, or have him rotting away in a dungeon without all of his comforts," Falk grumbled, "but you are right, my Jarl."

Elisif glanced sidelong at the last box on the table. "Is that the box your men managed to find in hidden compartments?"

"Yes, my Jarl."

"Good. It may have the answers we are looking for."

—

Elisif sat atop the throne of Solitude. She sat with her usual poise and posture, as always, but this time she sat a little taller with confidence. It was as silent as the grave in her courtroom, but that was to be expected; even the servants and the members of the court were attending the Burning of King Olaf Festival, and the room was beautiful and peaceful with the unusual quiet. By now, the starlight filtered through the windows, and she was certain that the effigy of Olaf was on fire, and the people of Solitude were rejoicing in their spiced wine and festival sweets.

Bolgeir stood silently by her side, the only other soul in the room.

Elisif kept her chin high, and closed her eyes. She could see the effigy burning before her, could smell the sweet smoke of a wood fire, and taste the spiced wine. All of these things were sweet to her, but she sat on her throne and waited for something sweeter.

Elisif opened her eyes again, and stared forward again, unmoving.

The two waiting into the night in utter silence, until she heard the palace doors from the lower floor explode open, and she had to fight the small smile that wanted to creep into the corners of her mouth. She tamed her own feelings, and kept her face impassive.

Erikur stormed up the stairs with fisted hands, his face red and his teeth clenched so tightly that the muscles in his jaw spasmed.

"You!" he thundered. "How dare you send the Steward and his pack of thugs to _my home _and go through _my things—_"

"_Down!_" Bolgeir roared back, jumping from the platform and giving Erikur a harsh one-handed shove to the chest to prevent him from coming nose-to-nose with his Jarl.

Erikur wasn't dissuaded, and jabbed a finger at the housecarl's chest, smudging his clean plate with a single angry fingerprint. Bolgeir was the only one standing between him and Elisif, and he towered over the Thane who appeared to have lost all of his senses by daring to approach her at the platform.

"How dare you touch me with your filthy hands, you pumped-up side of beef!" Erikur snarled. "My clothes alone are worth more than your life! If you ever think to lay a hand on me again, lapdog, I will have my wizard set fire to you and have you roasted like a pig on a spit!"

"I would like to see you try, Erikur," Bolgeir threatened, his hand falling to the pommel of his sword. "Then I will be the one to have the honor of taking your head. A duty many would envy me, no doubt. If you get within an arm's length of my Jarl's person in anger again, I will ensure that task carried out."

Elisif cleared her throat, and although the action was not overt, it brought a silence to the room and both sets of eyes turned to her.

"Erikur," she said pleasantly, unperturbed by the scene in front of her, "I have been expecting you."

Her Thane looked ready to explode once more, but her voice - although soft as a feather - cut like steel.

"_Sit_."

Bolgeir kicked a bench and a small table out in front of Elisif's throne, and Erikur had little recourse other than to sit down, although he did so with a growl.

"What is the meaning of this?" Erikur demanded, glaring up at Elisif, who sat many heads taller than he, a fact which obviously rankled him deeply.

"You have served me well, when serving was convenient," Elisif said. "But I have always had my doubts about you, and today those seeds of doubt have bore fruit. You, a Thane of my court, meant to embody the law and inspire the citizenry with the deeds that landed you a position in the Blue Palace, have been stealing from my treasury."

"Ridiculous!" Erikur retorted, face dark with anger. "Gossip and slander!"

"I have grown tired of your silver tongue, Erikur," Elisif stated plainly. "My Steward and his 'thugs' have already seized all of your records. I have gone over them with Falk this morning. And do you know what we found?"

Erikur glared. "I don't think what you think you found, Jarl—"

Elisif shook her head, and Bolgeir menaced him from her side. "You see, Erikur, it's not what I _think _I found that will bring you down - it's what I _know. _I know that you have failed to report your true earnings for years, even before I assumed the throne of Jarl, and have therefore been stealing from the treasury through tax evasion. You have been very clever by hiding your wealth in your invoices, but unfortunately for you, your meticulous attention to detail in your own private records - yes, we found them as well - are what will be your undoing. You've been lying to me, my husband, and defrauding us for years. This is especially repugnant considering the recent war, and Haafingar's struggle to rebuild. You take as much as you can from the people, and give nothing back. It's time you answer for that, Erikur."

"May I remind you, Jarl Elisif—"

"—that my Thanes paid for the war?" Elisif snorted delicately. "Yes, I have heard that one before. My Steward says that have dangled that in front of his face many times. I and the late General Tullius appreciated your contribution to the war effort, as you well know; however, I am going to take this time to remind you that I am your Jarl, and so long as you serve in my court you are answerable to _me_. It is only fair that if you can pay for war, then you can pay for the rebuilding of our city."

"You would lay the ruins of your mislaid claim to High Queen at my feet?" Erikur spat. "You expect one many to rebuild the entire city?"

This time, Elisif did smile, and it was accompanied by a laugh. "Oh no, Erikur. Not the _entire _city. But a man of such great wealth as yourself sure can find the funds to assist the throne. You have more money than anyone else in this Hold, so I am sure you can afford it."

"Jarl Elisif," he pleaded, switching tactics, "I am a simple businessman. I rent properties to the merchants and the money I make comes from them. The shipping business I have is only a small portion of my wealth that goes toward my own household!"

"I do believe that it goes toward your own household, but it is anything but small, Erikur." Elisif leaned forward in her throne, catching his gaze and holding it to hers. She lowered her voice, whispering softly, "I know about the Red Wave, Erikur. And the Dainty Sload. And the other ships that work for you under the table, pirating along the coast and giving you a cut of their blood money. That's where your surplus income comes from, other than the ridiculous taxes you raise on my citizens."

Erikur's face instantly colored and he jumped from the bench, ready to hurl defenses, insults, and anything else he could think of before Bolgeir roughly pushed him back into his seat. Elisif continued, uninterrupted, as if she was unaware of Erikur's response to her words.

"I have enough evidence against them that I can have them all hanged on dozens of counts of piracy. I also have enough to dismiss you from my court as Thane and as a citizen of Haafingar."

Erikur laughed at her spitefully, his eyes gleaming.

"I would not overplay your hand if I were you, Elisif. May I remind you - as you have said yourself - that I hold most of the money and power in this city. You do not have the authority to do that to me. You could try, but you would find that your influence is a whisper in the wind compared to mine."

Elisif narrowed her eyes, and her voice was steely again as she reprimanded, "And I will remind you that I am Jarl Elisif to you."

"Even so, _Jarl Elisif,_" Erikur mocked, "I know you. You are a woman, kind and soft, and do not favor execution as a means of punishment. And without me, you would not be making any money at all in this court. You cannot afford to lose me, whether you think I have committed crimes or not."

Elisif shrugged. "That is certainly true, Thane. I find execution barbaric and distasteful. However," Elisif pushed a piece of formal parchment across the table toward her Thane, as well as a wet quill. "as Jarl, it is my duty to uphold the law of my Hold, whether I find it distasteful or not. And in Haafingar, the penalty for piracy is death."

Erikur held up the parchment, his face settling into a hard frown. "What is this?"

"That is a warrant for the execution of every known pirate that serves under you. All it lacks is my signature to make it official."

Erikur's face went red, then purple, and he glared at her in disbelief, before the anger slowly dissipated from his face and he skin was pale. "If you meant for them to die, it would already be signed," he said flatly, meeting her gaze. "You have something in mind. What is it that you want?"

Elisif felt her cinching her victory, but she was careful to school her expression. She steepled her fingers in front of her face, leaning forward on her elbows on her throne toward the the table.

"I do," she affirmed. "I find pirates distasteful, and your use of them in this time of need where my citizens come into my courtroom every day complaining of pirate attacks while remaining mute is insulting, selfish, and despicable; however, your ability to make money _is_ still valuable to me in my court, I can sign that warrant for their execution and watch your profits plummet, or you can carefully listen to my proposal and perhaps still aspire to make money for me and my people."

"Given the choice, there is little I can do other than to consider your proposal."

"Very good," Elisif nodded. "You know very well that piracy is on the rise thanks to the departure of the East Empire Trading Company and their Imperial battleships. Unescorted, individual merchant ships are easy targets for pirates, and this is becoming a major problem and complaint for every Hold with a major port. Now, I cannot penalize you as the cause of piracy itself. Piracy is an unfortunate - but not entirely unexpected - consequence to the current political situation in Skyrim; my belief is that you merely used this as an opportunity to blend in with the rest of the crime to create greater wealth for yourself, even more so than you have in the years of peace. Despicable as your actions are, executing your crews will only have a fractional impact on crime. Instead, I can let you keep your pirates as pets, but they will take direction from me now. They will be allowed to keep living and pirating, but instead of raiding merchant ships, they will raid and sink the other pirate ships flagrantly defying the law, killing those aboard. In effect, we will use their kind against one another. I hear that your favorite crew, the Red Wave, is a very successful pirate ship, and the most cutthroat of their kind. They should be successful in eliminating their competition, and people of their caliber will likely even enjoy it. Perhaps if they eliminate the piracy problem and are the sole crew to remain standing, I might pardon them officially and allow them to live out the rest of their lives on land with their accumulated fortune. They will keep twenty percent of their plunder for themselves, you will receive ten percent, and the other seventy will go toward rebuilding this Hold."

Outraged, Erikur stammered, "Ten per—"

"That or nothing." Elisif nudged the wet quill in his direction. "That quill is yours now. Make your choice. If you accept my offer, you can keep it, and in doing so we have an accord; if you refuse my offer, return the quill to me and I will sign the warrant, have Istar send for the executioner tomorrow, and you will be brought up on charges. Consider your move carefully."

Erikur blustered for a moment, looking for a way out of the situation, before settling his eyes on Elisif with a newfound sense of reproach and wariness. It was a look of surrender, and Elisif recognized it with triumph. He crumpled the warrant in his hands, and snapped the quill between his fingers.

"As you will, my Jarl," he said lowly, his jaw tight. "We have an agreement."

Finally, Elisif allowed herself a small smile, and settled back into her throne. "Very good, my Thane."

—

A/N: I am immensely proud of this chapter. I hope that you all enjoy it. I think I speak for just about everyone who has played Skyrim that it is good to see Erikur finally step in something he can't scrape off his expensive boots.

As always, let me know what you think! Do you think Elisif's handling of Erikur was clever, or do you think that such methods are too much unlike her? How do you think this will change the story? I'm interested in hearing your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

The candles had just been lit in the Temple of the Divines as dawn was breaking from the east, a subtle light illuminating through the fog of the Drajkmyr marshes of Hjaalmarch on the border. The faint glow, a promise of a new day, crept slowly over the tree line from the wilderness that would eventually light up the Karth river and warm the stones of Solitude as the common folk set about their daily tasks.

The light of dawn was early in its ascent to zenith, and none of its light filtered through the windows above the alters. Elisif approached them in near darkness, seeking forgiveness.

Silently, she prayed to Zenithar, begging understanding and compassion for her actions.

_I work to bring honest labor to my people, Zenithar, _she prayed, _please forgive my consortium with Erikur's pirates. I hope that doing a little evil will do a larger good._

Elisif offered a small sprig of snowberry to his alter, and lay it at the foot of the alcove. She kneeled there in silent supplication for several minutes until she had the courage to lift her head.

The swish of fabric behind her caused her hand to fly to her chest and replace the Talos amulet to plain view. She peeked out of the corner of her eye and saw Jora lighting the rest of the candles, and paused for a moment to linger in front of the alter of Talos. She could not ask Jora of the mind of her new god on this topic, but silently she wondered if he approved or disapproved of her.

_It is plunder skillfully and fairly won? _she wondered. _Is using Erikur's thieves against other thieves justice, in a way? Or would Talos think me an unjust ruler of an uncivil society?_

With those questions in her mind, she motioned to Bolgeir to return to the palace.

—

There was no idle chatter when Elisif crossed the threshold of the Blue Palace; as she ascended the steps to the throne room, ignoring the Stormcloak soldiers on the way, she held her chin high and all eyes turned to her.

The atmosphere in the room had been altered dramatically. She was a shade no longer, but an impression of a Jarl, and she caught their attention - and respect. Elisif's meeting with Erikur the previous night had been in total secrecy, yet its effect was immediate: Erikur sat on the furthest bench from the throne in the room, his eyes dark and expression brooding, lips sealed tightly. Elisif was not a spiteful or cruel creature by nature, but she did have to exert an amount of control to suppress a tiny smile as she glided past what looked to be her wealthiest Thane brooding in the corner of the room. Bryling sensed the change in him and was unusually laconic, her alert warrior's eyes scanning the room and the expressions of the court for indicators of this sudden shift. Although her eyes surveyed the room, they always returned back to Falk, who was the only other party, save Bolgeir, who knew was transpired the night before, but she pursed her lips and didn't dare have the audacity to inquire about it in public. Sybille was standing at attention, with greater care than she had exhibited in months, and she, too, could sense that a great deal had transpired, and she was uneasy for it, not knowing where things stood.

_Good, _Elisif thought shortly.

She nodded her head to her Steward as she mounted the two steps to the platform of her throne, and he bowed his head in admiration as she took her place among court.

Elisif remained silent for a few moments to guage the full effect and let it linger in the minds of her courtiers before she cleared her throat and directed her attention to Falk.

"Falk, what news from the Reach?"

"A great deal, my Jarl." Falk produced two letters bearing the seal of Markarth's ram's head and extended them to his Jarl with both hands. "Although Markarth is our neighbor and only takes a day to travel to the capital city, the Silver-Bloods have responded quickly to your letters, and have their replies already."

Elisif brushed her thumb over the formal parchment, before carefully unsealing the stiff wax. A single page of parchment fell from the first, while several heavily-dictated pages fell from the second. She read through them while her court remained hushed.

Eyebrows up, Elisif did not hide the pleased smile on her face.

"It looks as though they are eager to begin business with Haafingar," she announced, her eyes scanning over the anticipated words many times. "Jarl Thongvor is eager for our stone to rebuild his garrisons, and Thonar is more than interested in my business propositions. I suppose you can't fault a businessman for taking an opportunity when he sees it, although he'll soon learn that it'll be on my terms."

Elisif shot Erikur a small look, but he simply worked his jaw and avoided her gaze.

"We are doing business with the Reach, my Jarl?" Bryling asked. "I had no idea…"

"Neither did the Silver-Bloods, until I send them a letter yesterday. And neither did I, not for sure, until just now. They must be more desperate for our aid than they let on."

Elisif handed the letters back to Falk.

"Please ensure that these are returned to my desk so that I may consult them for an appropriate response later."

"Forgive me, Jarl…" Bryling continued, and Elisif turned her attention to her. "But Haafingar does not have business in stone."

"Or much in the way of lumber, save for one sawmill," Elisif replied with a smile. "But we shall have both soon enough. The land to the north and southwest has been left wild for too long. We cannot hope for our shipping industry to be repaired so quickly that we grow penniless waiting. By clearing some of the areas and settling them, we can bring in new sources of revenue and make it more difficult for bandits to hide in the mountains. We will have to hire trustworthy and willing young men and women as woodcutters to clear out the trees first, and then search for those interesting in quarrying."

"Can the treasury bear such expense?" Falk asked cautiously.

Elisif met his gaze. Many times during the war she had offered ideas on how to improve their circumstances and he had shied her away from them with his guidance - perhaps justifiably. Some of her ideas were of the weak mettle of inexperience, but now she was certain of herself in this path, and she had to trust in the teachings of her advisors and the kindling of confidence within her breast to show her the way.

She was very, very tired of having her ideas being met with endless questions. She valued her courtier's advice: she preferred having active members of court as opposed to mindless sycophants who invariably agreed with every word she said, because flattery, although sweet to the ear, was soft to the mind, and not useful to a ruler. Nevertheless, she needed a chance to prove herself, and she hadn't been given that yet.

"It will have to, Falk," she urged him. "I am working on other sources of income, but we have to spend a little money to make enough money to rebuild the Hold and chip away at Ulfric's ridiculous demand of reparations."

"It is risky…" Falk trailed uneasily.

"Is it?" Elisif challenged. "Lumber and stone. Two of the most valuable resources in Skyrim right now, all needed to repair the damage done during the war and the dragon attacks, are arguably the safest to invest in right now, as demand is high. Other Holds do have their own sources of stone and wood, but they are long-established businesses that have finite resources. We have a wealth of unused, untapped territory that is ripe for settling, and a Hold full of people that come in to our court every day desperate for work and aid. What better way to get the destitute people on their feet than giving them land to settle and honest work to better the soul? What better way to unburden the merchants of Solitude from their heavy taxes than creating new business to tax? What better way to make money - and connections - by opening new lines of trade with our wealthy neighbors who will be looking for sources of these raw materials?"

Falk seemed to weigh this in mind, but in seeing the wisdom, he quickly conceded.

"You… you are right, Jarl." At this, all of the court sharpened at attention at the unprecedented victory of their Jarl over the Steward. Falk, however, did not begrudge her; instead, his eyes glowed with a keen interest. "How can I assist you in making this happen?"

Elisif sat up higher in her throne, her fingers intertwining gently in her lap.

"You and Bryling know the people better than anyone. Although I know that you are currently overtaxed in finding recruits for Ulfric's army, I must ask this favor of you: since it is the two of you who travel to each home to assess the people and their property for taxes, you know each citizen by their name, ability, and wealth. Find capable and honest people who are willing to take up the woodcutting trade, and I will fill their names on the charters I have already prepared. There are many places for logging that I would consider suitable, but once you can give me a definitive list of names, we can go over the specifics of the operation."

"Very well," Falk nodded. "I can think of many suitable candidates that would gladly seize the chance to work. I shall have those names for you within a couple of days."

"We will meet that day after court, then," she agreed. "I will provide the coin from the treasury to support whomever you choose. Oh, and one more thing: I need to retain the services of a surveyor. After we begin cutting away the trees from the mountains, we will need an expert eye to find the best place to establish our quarrying operation."

Bryling interjected, eager to assist in what she thought was an exciting turn of events. "My Jarl, I believe I may know the type of specialist you are looking for."

"Oh? Do go on."

"I own property in Hjaalmarch," she continued. "One of the mines in the region has belonged to me for several years now. They primarily work with ore, but a man who wields a pickaxe always has an eye for the land. They surely will be able to find you good-quality stone."

Elisif thought for a moment, before shaking her head. "I appreciate the contribution, Bryling, but I would rather ensure that our own people are taken care of first. Again, you know as well as I do that as soon as we receive the public in court, we will have plenty of men complaining of unemployment in the region. I am sure that we will find someone with suitable skill in surveying, and then I will draft another round of charters to provide the stone that we, the Reach, and anyone else needs."

Bryling seemed disappointed, but nodded her head in accordance to her Jarl's logic. "Always happy to help, my Jarl, but you are right that our people must come first."

Finally, Erikur turned his gaze to the affairs of court.

"The people will be buzzing with excitement at such news, Jarl," he said emotionlessly.

Elisif ran a hand through her hair to brush back the strands that fell past her crown. From what she saw, he had been brought to heel. "Good," she said simply. "It is about time that the people in this Hold had something to feel optimistic about. The gods reward those who rejoice in honest labor."

Erikur didn't reply, averting his eyes again.

Then, she swept her eyes across those participating in the courtroom and took in each of their gazes, holding each for a moment, before announcing, just loud enough for the Stormcloak soldiers on the lower floor to hear, "I want all of Skyrim to know that Solitude is a true and loyal Hold to our noble kingdom, and that we will do whatever it takes to help our neighbors in this time of strife."

Her voice rang out clear through the room and down the stairwell, and when it settled the court seemed in awe of her, who also were in dire need of optimism.

Footsteps rang across the stone, and a man dashed up the palace steps into the center of court.

As if she had been expecting him, Elisif welcomed him before anyone else reacted.

"Ah, another courier?"

The courier made an awkward bow at her greeting - likely more used to delivering letters to the common folk rather than the royalty in Skyrim - and bobbed his capped head.

"Yes, Jarl Elisif. I was told to deliver a message straight to your hands."

"By whom?"

"Jarl Sorli the Builder, my Lady," the courier elaborated, and he made to hold out his arm to Elisif.

Falk intercepted him as he moved, holding up a hand and receiving the letter with the other himself. "It's all right, lad," he assured as the courier stiffened, and then approached the double-platform himself to transfer the letter to his Jarl's hands.

Elisif took in the whirl pattern of a filled cauldron, Morthal's mysterious sigil, on the wax seal; it was an appropriate symbol for a Hold that was deeply ingrained in magic, back from a time when witches worshipped gods older than those of even the native Reachmen. Gently nudging her finger under the wax, she opened the envelope without a tear.

"Steward," she murmured in instruction as she began to read. "Compensate our courier for his swift feet and reliable delivery."

In response, Falk approached the courier. "Thank you for your delivery, lad," Falk nodded, and retrieved a small coin purse from his own pocket. "Here, in thanks."

Ecstatic at the tip, the courier beamed - this would give him enough money for a bed, food, and drink at the tavern! - and thanked each member of the court profusely before taking his leave.

Falk and Bryling watched him with an amused smile as he went, and then returned their attention to Elisif when they heard her re-fold the letter.

"More news?" Falk inquired.

"Yes. I wrote a similar letter to the Jarl of Morthal concerning our mutual needs and how we may work together for the continuing prosperity of our Holds. It seems that Hjaalmarch has graciously accepted our offers of aid and is more than willing to trade for our lumber."

Falk let loose a long whistle.

"To think that all these people who did not support your cause during the war are now clamoring for your assistance and goodwill…" Bryling mused, although the thick irony did seem to trouble her sense of honor.

"That is beyond our control now. Right now, we need to focus on what we can control, and what we can control is this: whether our new Stormcloak-friendly neighbors are our enemies, or our allies. It is beneficial to us, our people, and our neighbors to maintain peaceful and lucrative relations, regardless of political disagreement." Elisif paused. "And it is imperative for our survival as well."

The court took a moment to take that in.

"Impressive, my Jarl," Falk broke the silence, his eyes unfocused, as if seeing something far away.

Elisif couldn't control the blush of satisfaction that colored her cheeks, and she covered it with a small laugh.

"Well, it will only be impressive so long as we can uphold our end of the trade. With both the Reach and Hjaalmarch now desperate for our relief, we will need to push up our timeline of establishing workers, a lumber mill, and a quarrying business. I hate to trouble you, my Steward, my Thane, but you may need to move even more quickly on this matter."

Falk and Bryling nodded eagerly.

"Certainly, my Jarl," they chimed in unison. Her court was vibrant in a way that it hadn't been since her husband had been alive - all except Erikur, sulking in the corner, although his mood did little to dampen the rest of the court.

"All right then," Elisif said. "Now that we have that settled, let us get to work. Call for the guards to let in our visitors."

—

"I would have given _anything _to see the look on Erikur's face," Falk lamented, a deep grin of vindication on his face.

Elisif smothered a smile into her wine, taking a dainty sip from the jeweled goblet. She had first tasted mead on her wedding night to Torygg, but she still had yet to acquire a penchant for it. She thanked all nine gods for Evette San's family recipe of spiced wine, which warmed her from the inside out and made her toes and fingertips tingle. She wasn't much of a drinker despite her love of fancy wines - they made her headaches much worse - so it affected her deeply when she did partake. The more she drank, the more the sense of contentment enhanced her feeling of sweet intoxication.

The two were celebrating on the benches in the empty courtroom, the day having ended hours ago. A pitcher of wine sat in a deep platter between them on a table, where they served themselves - free of servants - and toasted to a victorious day in court.

"Without your help, I am not so sure we could have pinned him down," Elisif said gently. She took another sip of wine. "I thank you for your service, as always, my dear Steward."

"Your faith in me is most kind, my Jarl. With the help of the Divines I will always advise you to the best of my ability. But I am not so sure your thanks are rightfully placed," he digressed. "You are a changed woman from the noblewoman who sough the throne of High Queen, my Jarl. It was you who searched his accounts, and found them suspicious - and successfully confronted him with his treachery and brought him to heel. Erikur, the court, the Hold… they will all need to look at you with different eyes. I know that I am," he confessed.

Elisif's smile slipped from her face, and a profound sense of emptiness ached within her gut. She realized, slowly, that it was the feeling of loneliness. She lowered her eyes and drank deeply from the goblet.

"My Jarl? Are you well?"

When Elisif had no more wine in her goblet to excuse her lack of response, she slowly looked back at her Steward.

"Perhaps I have changed," Elisif thought aloud. "No… no, I am changing. Slowly."

Falk offered her a puzzled look, and rested his goblet on the table. He reached out and took one of her hands.

"Is that not what you wanted?" he questioned. "Your advisors are aiding you well, but it is you who is doing the growing and the changing. This is a good thing, is it not?"

Elisif thought of Torygg, and winced. She shook the feeling away. "Of course, Falk," she said. "I just wonder if I am the type of Jarl that Torygg would want me to be. I'm trying hard to live up to his memory."

"He watches over you, I am sure of it," Falk impressed upon her.

"I hope so. Still, I wasn't meant for this. I was meant to be his queen, and we would grow old together."

Falk had no words to say to that. His heart ached for his Jarl, so triumphant hours earlier, who now looked so very young, forlorn, and heartbroken. He knew she still dealt with feelings of Torygg that haunted her everyday, and she was holding up his city in his absence for his honor. He was very glad that - despite her new host of advisors and tutors - that she still relied upon him for friendship, advice, and support. Yet, what words could he say to a woman whose husband had been ripped from her so early into their fond marriage? What could he say to rid her of the loneliness that she no doubt felt from her loss? Was there anything at all that could ease the tremendous loss of a future, so well-planned, stolen away?

Falk merely squeezed her hand comfortingly, and then returned it to the stem of his goblet. They sat in companionship for a few minutes, saying nothing, until Elisif suddenly mustered a bright smile.

"Please, feel free to take your leave, Falk," she encouraged, rising to her feet. "The hour is late. Even Bolgeir is abed."

His concerned eyes pricked her conscience.

"Are you sure, my Lady? I would be glad to keep you company."

"Yes, my Steward. I would like to walk about the palace and think."

"If that is your wish, my Lady." With one last look of sympathy, he departed the throne room for his private chambers.

Elisif, somewhat unsteady on her feet, shakily refilled her goblet from the jug of wine beside her. She cupped both hands around the goblet, like a child would handle a glass too big for herself, although she did so to steady the liquid as the full glass sloshed with every step she took. She paused occasionally to take in healing sips of wine, finding that it filled the lonely cavern inside of her, and made her head too light to feel the weight of the thoughts that encumbered her mind everyday. She rose above those earthly worries, and simply enjoyed the feeling of the familiar stones beneath her feet and the spiced wine at her lips.

She passed down a hallway, glancing at the stars through the windows as she went. The Blue Palace had many terraces and balconies to view the sea and the surrounding land, and she sought one of them out, finding it the perfect night to drink wine under the stars.

Despite the wine that warmed her blood, she still moved with a semblance of silent grace, and slipped through one of the doors to a balcony without a sound.

She was surprised to see someone else on that balcony and froze on the spot. She breathed again when she recognized the man standing there: Balgruuf the Greater. His bearing and bright blonde hair were unmistakeable in her court. He had not heard her approach, and seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. Elisif felt to breech his rumination would be an intrusion, so she merely stood there for a few moments while deciding what to do.

He had his back to her, hands spread out against the stone railing. He was as still as a gargoyle statue, save for the wind that occasionally blew strands of his hair out of place. Although she could not see it, she was sure that he was glancing outward with an intense look on his dark blue eyes.

_I wonder what he sees through those eyes, _Elisif wondered, and scrutinized the dark and starry horizon.

Elisif's breath hitched when she realized that he was facing in the direction of the East - towards that of Whiterun. He could not see it past the marshes and trees of Haafingar, yet he still faced in the direction of his homeland, as that was the closest he would ever get to it again. _How frustrating, _she thought, _to know that your land lies just beyond the horizon and yet you can never see it._

With that realization, Elisif decided that he must be lonely, too, and wondered how many nights he stood in that same spot trying to envision his home past the limitations of his sight. It reminded her of the times she had stood upon the docks, watching the ships sail away to distant lands - most of them, she knew, were homeward bound toward Cyrodiil. Like Balgruuf, she knew that her feet would never again touch the soil of her birthplace, and that truth made her body ache with memory.

Elisif was used to bearing such pains in solitude; there was no one else she felt she could share her feelings with that would understand. Balgruuf, however, surely knew what she felt; and in her times of mourning, she had often wished for companionship. She wished to offer it to him now.

Finding the courage to take another step forward, Elisif tentatively asked, "Do you come here often, my lord?"

Balgruuf was a seasoned warrior, but when her gentle voice disturbed the the thick, pensive air, he startled so badly he let go of the railing and whirled around to face her, hand on the pommel of his steel sword.

Elisif swayed back, holding up one hand harmlessly in surrender, frightened that she'd hopelessly miscalculated the situation.

"Forgive me, my lord," she stuttered, suddenly feeling very much like an invader. "I should not have come. Forgive my interruption, I did not mean to disturb you. Excuse me, please."

"Wait."

Elisif halted in the doorway when Balgruuf's voice softened, and his hand fell from his weapon. His face was stormy with surprise, but it melted when his eyes met hers.

"I apologize, Jarl Elisif," he said sincerely, one hand falling back to the railing. "This is your home and I am a guest. You are free to go wherever you please in your own palace, of course… Please do not trouble yourself on my account."

She held his gaze for a moment, before taking another few steps forward at his ambiguous behest for company. Balgruuf turned back toward the dark horizon, and she joined him, settling one hand on the railing for support as she cradled her goblet to her chest.

"It is a beautiful view," Elisif commented to break the silence.

"You have a beautiful palace, my Jarl," he replied. "You should be proud."

Elisif smiled sadly. This was her palace, true, but it was not the home of her ancestors - it was the throne of Torygg and his family line. As much as she loved the city, its people, and her new home, a small part of her felt like a stranger, even in her own chambers, where she once shared a bed with her husband.

Elisif glanced at the wine in her hand, and suddenly felt negligent. "Would you care for some drink? I can send for some of our city's famous spiced wine."

"No. Thank you. I have already had… far too much mead this night."

Elisif snuck a peak at him, and saw that it was true: his fair skin was tinged slightly at the cheeks with red. He was a hardier Nord than she, and she knew that the Nords had a great love of mead and both celebrated and commiserated with flagons of the drink at almost any opportunity. Her drinking was rare, but she wondered how often he felt the need to self-medicate with mead to remedy his sadness. The thought troubled her, and she delved into her fresh cup of wine.

Both settled into a tentative amity now that they were both within their cups, and informally looked out at the stars together for several minutes.

"Do you come here often, my lord?" she repeated softly, her drink making her bold.

Balgruuf lowered his eyes, and the knuckles on the hands of the railing went white.

"Every night."

"I hear that the palace of Dragonsreach has its own massive overlook on the top floor - where you can see the entirety of the land before you. I wish that I had the opportunity to be hosted by you in your own palace." Elisif chuckled, trying to soften the mood. "And I also heard you even trapped a dragon in there!"

At this, Balgruuf flashed a small smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and Elisif couldn't be sure whether it was a trick of the torchlight.

"The damned marshes are in the way," Balgruuf grumbled, "but I can still see the plains of Whiterun as if they were right in front of me. I can see the foam of the White River and each of the stones that form the city walls. I remember each panel of wood that carves the mighty archway over the bridge that leads into the castle, and every tooth on the skull of Numinex in the main hall. My ancestors have lived in that castle since the time of Olaf One-Eye himself… I do not know how to reconcile the fact that my line will never walk those halls again."

Elisif's eyelashes fluttered, and she lowered them to drink more wine. She understood his heartache well.

"You are not originally from Skyrim, are you, Lady Elisif?" Balgruuf continued, and Elisif hesitated in raising her lips from her goblet.

"No," she said quietly, feeling as if a raised voice would break the atmosphere of the balcony.

"Do you miss home?"

Elisif closed her eyes, and she remembered the sights and smells of her childhood home. The scent of the plants in the garden, of fresh linens she would embroider, the meals served by the household cook… She also remembered the feeling of her father and mother's arms around her, and the laughter of the girls she grew up with. They were no doubt wed to lesser lords by now, perhaps even to a Count if they were lucky enough to secure such a match. She remembered the grand excitement of court, the many men she danced with, and the giggling chatter of the ladies who swore that a suitor favored them - or her. Cyrodiil, however, was far away, and the distance had placed a fog over her memories.

Yes, she missed home. But home had become where Torygg was, and now Torygg was gone.

_Where is your home now? _her inner voice whispered again.

"Yes," she answered simply, unwilling to elaborate further than that.

"A part of me wants to return to Whiterun, and damn any Stormcloaks that try and stop me. I can control my own anger, my own feelings, but what I cannot stand are the questions my children ask. They are young yet, and do not understand why we cannot go back. They ask me everyday when we will return home, and they do not understand when I tell them that there is no going back. That was the home I was born and raised in, and it was the only home they ever knew. This war… this damned war…" Balgruuf cursed.

Elisif sipped more wine in silent agreement, and was startled to find that the goblet was empty again. She looked forlornly for a pitcher nearby, and found none.

"Forgive me, my Jarl," Balgruuf cut in suddenly. "I am being discourteous. We do have a home here, now, and my children will have a better life in Solitude than they would if we fought to return to Whiterun."

"There is no need to apologize, my lord."

"I do not wish to appear ungrateful."

Elisif laughed faintly. "You are an esteemed member of my court, and you have helped me in ways that I will never be able to repay you for. You may say that you are indebted to me, but kindness freely given is never debt; in fact, I consider myself to be in _your _debt, for all the help you've given me. It was on your specific advice to leverage the Red Wave to make Erikur now work for me. That is something I could not have handled on my own, and it is one of the many debts I now owe you."

"No," he reassured. "You do not give yourself enough credit. And you could never be in my debt, not for what you've done for my children."

Elisif was reminded that he had several children - three, if she recalled correctly. She remembered the day that the party from Whiterun arrived following the battle there, with Balgruuf and his housecarl wounded from the fight, and three frightened children in tow.

"When did your wife die?" she asked in a whisper - a far more personal question than she would dare to ask if she hadn't had so much wine. "The mother of your children."

"My wife…" Balgruuf trailed off as his eyes tightened, but he mastered control of himself and cleared his throat. "My wife was mother to my two eldest children. The youngest boy, Nelkir, did not come from my wife."

"Oh."

Although her goblet was empty, Elisif hid her expression in the wide mouth of the cup. Illegitimate children were not as taboo in Skyrim as they were in Cyrodiil, but it still must have been the source of much gossip at the time.

When Elisif thought about it, however, she knew the feeling of utter desolation that the loss of a loved one brings, as it was upon her now just as it had been the day that Ulfric shouted Torygg to the ground and pierced his heart with cold steel. It didn't entirely surprise her to think that, in a time of great heartache, the former Jarl of Whiterun would have sought someone to fill the void that the death of a loved one brings, whether it was the right or wrong thing to pursue in his or her absence. And clearly, he cared deeply for his second lover enough to raise their son in his own court as one of his own.

"You have lost both of the women you loved," Elisif murmured, her heart contracting in pain for his loss, as she felt hers deeply, too. "How did you move beyond it?"

"I do whatever I can to focus on my children," Balgruuf answered immediately. "I can see them in their faces and the little things they do. To me, it keeps them alive."

"You are a good father," Elisif thought, and she realized that he was much older than she was. She felt dwarfed by his experience, but not too intimidated to extinguish the sudden impulse welling in her breast. "But it must be difficult living in their absence. I know it is for me."

Balgruuf's lips settled together, and he did not answer.

They had drifted to close together on the balcony throughout their conversation that they had barely noticed that they were nearly touching. Elisif turned her head to face him, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Are you lonely, too, my lord?"

Elisif stared into his eyes, and marveled at how deep they ran in the light of the flickering torches. Her head spun, and she briefly wondered how much she had to drink before she impetuously closed the remaining distance between them and softly rose up on her toes to hush his lips in a tender kiss.

—

A/N: I was hesitant to post this chapter, simply because I am not sure how you all - my readers - will respond to it. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that Elisif is only human, has complicated human emotions, and will still continue to make mistakes, which is part of her learning process.

However, I know that many of you, in our private conversations, have expressed a mutual love for Balgruuf, and I can see some romantic chemistry between the two when taking into account the post-war climate of Skyrim.

Before anyone asks, however: yes, this still will be an Ulfric/Elisif story further down the road.

As always, I would like to thank those who read, favorite, and review my stories. I always try and communicate with anyone who supports my story in any way to send them a big "Thank you!" but not everyone who reviews has an account so I can contact them. This is for you guys, too. You guys are rockstars! Please feel free to leave some feedback in the review section. Reviews, and subsequent PMs, are what help keep me going, and they really do make a world of difference. Please don't be shy!

I promise another chapter will be coming soon!


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

_Elisif huddled closely together with a group of girls her own age, ducking their heads and hiding in a shadowy corner of the courtroom. Through a bit of youthful mischief and luck, she and each of her childhood companions had managed to acquire golden goblets filled with the vintage wines that were served for the important courtiers at feast, and they were enjoying their first real taste of expensive drink._

_The count was hosting a grand feast for the New Life Festival on this first evening of Morning Star, and all citizens of prominence attended while the common folk gathered in the taverns where ale was served at no charge. The servants had brought out the fine tapestries and lit every candle, and many were dressed in their finest clothes, feasting and performing the high Imperial court dances to the tune of the musicians. For Elisif, this night was special; all days spend in the court were special, but this time, she was no longer escorted by her father, and instead was invited to attend by her own name. Her father was amongst the other nobles in the throng somewhere, but she had snuck off to join her friends in their own private celebration, feeling bold and more mature than her years. Elisif wore her finest gown and preened, as she was a little girl no longer: she had grown several inches, sometimes taller than the Imperial boys her age, and her breasts were beginning to bud on her chest as her hips took on a more womanly curve. She was fourteen, and the dresses she wore were beginning to take on the fashion of the Imperial ladies, and she was pleased to note that they cut her a feminine silhouette. She no longer felt like a child among court, and she beamed when the men looked at her and asked her to dance._

_The girls had tasted wine before, of course, in their own households - but the wines were plain, meant for everyday meals. These wines came from all over the Empire, and they were only served in wealthy courts and and homes. They stole sips in their little hiding place, feeling giddy as the wine rushed through them._

_"Did you see the way he looked at me when he asked me to dance?" Agape gasped, her face flushed and eyes sparkling as she peeked out at the party-goers. "I swear, it was like a dream!"_

_The girls giggled and agreed._

_"He's the second son of the Count," Cassiah whispered excitedly. "Mark me, he has his eye on you!"_

_"I do not care if he has both eyes on you," Megaera warned. "He is the second son, after all. With an inheritance like yours, you could easily aspire to win the affections of the Count's firstborn. Then you would be Countess one day." _

_Agape made a face at Megaera. "Oh, drink more wine and have some fun. Besides, the Count's heir is much uglier than his brother, and whenever I get close to him he always reeks as if he never bathes. "_

_"And what about you, Elisif? Who was that strange man you were dancing with this evening? I have never seen him before. He has the look of a foreigner."_

_Elisif took another sip of wine, and her eyes melted at the thought of the moments when their hands touched and they danced to a fast Cyrodiilic tune like they were sprites of the wind itself. She had only just met him this once, but she was already smitten._

_"He is Torygg," she said dreamily. "His father is High King of Skyrim."_

_"Barbarian," Megaera scoffed, but she was quickly shushed by the other girls, who reminded their friend that Elisif herself was a Nord, too - which people often forgot due to her upbringing._

_"A High King!" Agape squealed. "And he fancies you?"_

_"She fancies him," Cassiah said smugly, and Elisif blushed into her goblet. _

_"It doesn't work that way in Skyrim, I don't think," Elisif mumbled, embarrassed. "It's not through lineage like in Cyrodiil. The High King is chosen among all the Jarls when the former High King dies. Torygg will be Jarl of Solitude after Istlod, but other than that, I do not know."_

_"But still," Agape pressed, "You could be married to a High King of Skyrim someday!"_

_"Agape, it was just a dance!" Elisif laughed, but deep in her heart she felt a flutter of hope._

_"Calf love," Megaera dismissed. _

_Elisif raised a brow. "Oh? Who are you to speak of calf love? Do not think I have not seen you eyeing the ambassador of High Rock all evening!"_

_At this, Megaera finally was the one to flush and hide her face in her wine cup while the other girls laughed. _

_"Besides, what harm is there in calf love?"_

Elisif awoke from her dream with a thudding headache that pulsed behind her eyes. She squeezed them tightly to shut out the morning light that was streaming through her bedroom windows. Groaning, she pulled the sheets of her bed over her head.

_Oh, by the Divines, I shall never drink so much wine again, _she thought groggily, aching to stay abed, away from the lights, for the rest of the day.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open.

With a gasp, Elisif shot upright from under her sheets, choking back the wave of nausea as she did so.

"Oh Gods," she whispered, putting a hand to her aching head. "Oh, what happened?"

A storm kicked up inside Elisif when the previous night came flooding back to her. She had very little tolerance for alcohol, but she remembered drinking heavily from the pitcher that night, and meeting Balgruuf the Greater on one of her balconies. When the memories of his intense gaze and their shared kiss came back to her, her stomach fluttered with excitement and dread inexplicably at the same time. It transpired in her mind through a hazy lens, but her fingers curled into the bedsheets when she realized that it was no dream. She couldn't remember anything after that, and only realized now that she had missed her daily appointment at the Temple of the Divines, as well.

"I'm going to be sick," Elisif muttered, laying back in bed and covering her mouth.

At the most inopportune moment, a knock came to her chamber door, and she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to grate out the word, "Enter."

Elisif blinked at the person before her, rubbing her sleep-confused eyes and identified the guest as Idgrod - the Younger.

_Gods does she ever look like her mother, _Elisif thought off-handedly. _I would bet that she could pass as the twin of the former Jarl of Haafingar when Ravencrone was her age._

"Forgive me," Elisif mumbled and struggled to get out of bed. In a flash, Idgrod's gentle hand was on her upper arm, steadying her and finding her a chair to sit in.

"No, please forgive me, my Lady," Idgrod said lowly, and through Elisif's squinted eyes she saw a look of concern directed her way. "I would not have bothered you at all, if it were not in the most dire of need."

Taking a steadying breath, Elisif fought her sickness and straightened up to the best of her ability.

"Please, what can I do for you?"

Idgrod bit her lip, and her hands worried and twisted the fabric of her skirts before she regained her composure and smoothed out her dress, looking Elisif in the eye.

"It is my brother, my Lady," she said. "He has been ill since he arrived in Solitude. I fear for his wellbeing."

"Your brother Joric?" Elisif asked, much more attentive. "Why was this not brought to my attention sooner? I wish you all to be safe, happy, and healthy under my protection!"

"The situation is difficult…" Idgrod fumbled. "I… Has… Has mother told you about… our family?"

"About the magic that runs through your blood?" Elisif nodded. "Yes, we spoke at length about it. She says that he has the power to be an even greater seer than herself someday. She says he is gifted."

Idgrod nodded her head hesitantly, but she did seem relieved that she would not have to be the one to inform Elisif of the nature of her brother's strangeness. "While it is true that my younger brother has received tremendous gifts from the Divines, these gifts take their toll, and they are not without repercussions, especially given the power he has at such a young age. We used to take him to the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun where Danica could help relieve him of his symptoms, but now that Whiterun is controlled by Ulfric and the Stormcloaks…"

"You cannot enter the city," Elisif surmised.

"Yes, my Lady." Idgrod's eyes shone with worry. "Her aid, while it was available, helped him for a time. But now he grows worse. I do not mean to offend, but I fear that it is this city, this palace, that feeds his sickness. So much darkness has occurred here, between Pelagius and Potema and Torygg's death, that Solitude is under the influence of dark magics. Even when purged, they still leave residue, and my brother is sensitive enough to be affected by them. We - my mother and I - did not know who else to turn to. But now that you understand our family's situation, I hoped…"

Elisif touched a hand to Idgrod the Younger's shoulder.

"Of course," she said, and turned away from her guest to quickly write and seal a small piece of parchment to pass into Idgrod's hands. "Put this into the hands of one of my maids, and they will deliver it to the Temple of the Divines right away. Divines willing, my high priest and priestess will do all that they can to provide your brother with some relief."

Idgrod's entire body swayed with a sigh of relief, and she beamed with thanks. "Oh, my Jarl, I cannot thank you enough."

Elisif thought for a moment through her headache, and passed a hand over her face.

"One moment more, if you would please."

Idgrod paused, a quizzical look on her face.

"Of course, my Jarl."

"How old is your brother?"

"He is ten, my Jarl."

"Ten is the age where most children begin to apprentice themselves to a trade, is it not?"

"For most children, aye, I believe so."

Elisif penned another short letter.

"Make sure another maid gets this letter. It is to my court mage, Sybille Stentor. Although not the most pleasant woman in my court, she is one of the most gifted wizards in Skyrim outside of the professors at the College of Winterhold where she was taught, and she might be willing to apprentice him when she learns of his power and potential. The Temple healers will do what they can, but I suspect that true relief will come to him through mastery of the arcane, including his own gifts. I believe that Sybille will be able to teach him. If this does not offend you or your parents, then Joric may begin to learn effective immediately."

Idgrod's lips parted in a polite look of shock, but it quickly transitioned into that of gratitude. "My Jarl, this…. this is more than my family could ever hope for. We are in your debt, kind Lady Elisif."

Elisif smiled wryly. "So many people keep telling me this, and yet the debt still feels as if it is mine to pay. I wish you and your family luck in this matter. Please do keep me updated on your brother's condition, and if you encounter any problems with Sybille, I will handle her."

"I will, my Jarl."

Regretfully, Elisif looked about the room, lamenting the long day of court ahead of her. Still in her nightgown, she tsk'ed softly.

"Where is Erdi?" she grumbled, head pulsing again. Normally her maid ensured she rose before dawn. "I need to begin getting ready…"

Idgrod cleared her throat softly, and Elisif's eyes focused on her. Idgrod fell into a deep curtsy.

"If you would forgive me yet again, my Jarl, but my mother also hopes that you will take me on as one of your ladies-in-waiting. It is my hope as well that I can begin to make myself useful around here, especially considering all that you have given my family. If you would have me, I would gladly enter your service. I told Erdi to find other duties this morning so that I may tend to you, if it pleases you."

Elisif's brows rose, but she found that she was indeed pleased with the idea. She knew many in her castle felt purposeless, and Idgrod the Younger was the spitting image of her mother, whom Elisif had grown very fond of. As Idgrod remained in her curtsy, Elisif sized her up, and noted that their ages were very similar. She enjoyed Erdi's care as they were peers and she always filled the room with happy chatter, but Idgrod had been trained to succeed her mother and would make for fine conversation and company - even better, she knew that she was someone she could implicitly trust.

"It pleases me greatly," Elisif smiled, and Idgrod rose her head to smile back. "I hope this gives us the opportunity to become friends."

"I hope so as well, Jarl Elisif. I would like to start immediately."

The two interlocked arms, and searched the dresser for a raiment that would be both comfortable and fashionable, and Idgrod aided her in removing her nightgown and replacing it with the fine dress.

Idgrod guided her to the washbasin, picking up the silver-handled brush and working her way through Elisif's hair. Her fingers were soft and deft, gently working through the snarls, and Elisif's eyes closed in contentment, as Idgrod's gentle touches seemed to help abate the pain in her head.

"For the daughter of a Jarl, you are exceedingly good at this," Elisif hummed.

Idgrod laughed.

"When my mother was pregnant with Joric, I had hoped for a younger sister. I practiced doing hair on my friends in my Hold city, hoping to one day have a sibling whose hair I could braid."

"There is still time for Joric," Elisif joked. "If he grows his hair long like your father."

"I suppose that's true! Although I doubt his hair will ever be as lovely as yours, Jarl Elisif."

In Elisif's rational mind, she knew that she should likely keep her mouth shut - considering that she had only just recently been acquainted with her new courtier - but she decided that having female friendship felt wonderful, and she hadn't a woman her own age to confide in for ages. Her hangover also brooked little in the way of manifesting patience, so Elisif threw caution to the wind and chattered on with her new companionship.

"I certainly don't feel very lovely today," Elisif confided. "I feel terrible."

"Mead?" Idgrod asked, very close to the mark.

"Wine, actually. How did you know?"

"You do have the look of it, my Jarl. Although I promise that you look much better than the logging workers did when they stumbled home from the tavern every night."

Well, that was a comforting thought.

"Perhaps your mother was wrong - perhaps you _do _have her gift in full."

"Oh, I appreciate that, but it doesn't take divine sight to know when a Nord has had too much to drink the night before. At any rate, if I _did _have mother's or Joric's gift, I would know _why _you felt the need to drink so much. Forgive me if it is not my place to ask, but if you would like to share your troubles with me, you can feel free to do so."

Elisif pondered this for a moment, as Idgrod stroked the brush through her hair until she swore it stone.

"I… I was a bit lonely, I suppose."

Idgrod nodded somberly, and she handled the brush with more care. "I am sorry about your loss, my Lady, truly I am. I cannot imagine."

"I never have taken to drinking before," Elisif confessed. "I cannot handle too much wine, and therefore I have never taken to my cups as a means of forgetting and feeling better. I made a terrible mistake last night."

Idgrod frowned behind her. "The hangovers are miserable, but everyone makes mistakes sometimes, even a Jarl. Drinking too much wine on a single night is hardly something to feel so lachrymose about."

Elisif bit her lip, and rubbed a hand over her face. "It gets worse. I was so drunk that I kissed Balgruuf the Greater."

Idgrod froze in her duties, and in embarrassment Elisif peeked over her shoulder to look at her. This time, her jaw was fully agape, and her eyes were so wide they caught the light of the sun and sparkled. Yet, there was a hint of humor there.

"Truly, my Lady?" she asked, delightfully scandalized.

"Truly," Elisif replied, mortified.

"Well, what happened after?" Then, sensing her Jarl's unease, she schooled her expression and cleared her throat. "Only if you feel comfortable sharing, my Lady."

"I don't recall. Only that it was wonderful and I feel horrible guilty."

The two looked at each other in silence, until Idgrod cautiously turned Elisif back into her chair and continued brushing her hair. When it was smooth, she began to braid her mistress's hair in her favorite style.

"Torygg?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes."

"My Lady," Idgrod sighed sympathetically. "I know you still mourn deeply for your husband. But it is not for you to feel guilty about this - you both had your share of drink, and sometimes loneliness can bring people together. I know that Balgruuf lost both of the most important women in his life to him, but he finds a way to carry on."

Elisif's hand fell over her heart, and she felt the gold amulet warmed by her skin hanging over her heart.

"I feel to move on is to betray Torygg."

"However long you mourn is your choice, of course," Idgrod continued, "but as painful as it may be, think of Torygg. Would he want you to move on? Balgruuf is a good man, and if you truly fancy each other, there is nothing that can taint the purity of two peoples' honest feelings toward one another."

Elisif couldn't yet face such a question, and so the two lapsed into silence. Even if she could face such a question, Balgruuf was many years her senior - although that was not uncommon in marriages anywhere - and any sort of intimacy had the threat of provoking the Stormcloak's wrath, which she did not want to incur.

When Idgrod had finished with Elisif's hair and placed her circlet, Elisif stood.

"Thank you," Elisif said, and then added, "for everything. Please, go see to those messages about your brother."

Idgrod bowed her head deeply. "I shall. Many thanks, and Divines keep you."

"And you as well." Elisif watched her go. "What harm is there in calf love, indeed?" she muttered, a line she recalled from her childhood.

—

Court was quiet as she carefully reviewed the papers in her hand, determined not to let her headache affect her demeanor or judgement in court. All of court was in attendance save for Erikur, who was relaying to his pirate crews their new contracts.

"You brought me these names very quickly," Elisif praised, and Falk and Bryling shared a small smile.

"With both the Reach and Hjaalmarch in dire need for our business, we decided that it would be best to provide you necessary information as soon as possible, so Bryling and I worked throughout the night to come up with a worthy list of men who would be happy to serve you in your future endeavors."

Sybille Stentor snorted and drew nasty glances from both Bryling and Falk, but Elisif paid little attention to their pettiness.

"All of these men are capable." She arched a brow. "A few do have some minor criminal histories, however."

"Merely a few tavern brawls, with alcohol involved," Bryling assured. "And only recently, after the war. When men and women tend to lose their primary source of income, their hopelessness sometimes leads them to wayward behavior. But I promise they are all sturdy, decent men who are simply in need of good work."

Elisif considered her Thane and her Steward each.

"And you are certain of the quality of these men? I do not wish to hand over our new lumber mill to drunken rabble."

"We are certain," Falk assented firmly. "Their crimes are so small they are negligible, no one ever got hurt in the fighting and they merely were held in Castle Dour until they sobered up, and returned to their families in the morning. Honest labor would keep them away from the taverns, lessen the tavern fights that seem to be becoming more frequent, and employ young men who still have the opportunity to be knocked back onto the straight and narrow."

Elisif pressed her lips together. Making a decision, she rolled up the scroll containing the names and handed it back to Falk.

"Very well. The young men of the city will certainly fall in line when they are employed. It is the young, unemployed men I most fear as a source of mischief and trouble, especially when there is mead involved. Get them out from the taverns and into the wilderness where they can benefit our fine Hold. Try to include a few older men with knowledge on the woodcutting trade as well, however. I need both strength and wisdom, and I need this to begin immediately. Our mill isn't even built yet and we have orders to fill from the Reach and Hjaalmarch."

Falk inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, my Jarl. Thank you."

"How quickly can this lumber mill be built?" she asked.

"With your coin, an eager supply of willing laborers, and an untouched forest of trees, I imagine it will take only a week, perhaps two," Bryling answered.

"Make it one. We need those trees cleared so we can begin to get at the stone in the mountains."

"Yes, my Jarl."

"As for surveyors," Falk added, "I think I have just the man you are looking for."

He handed the sheet to Elisif, and her eyebrows shot up so quickly her circlet lifted from the crown of her head.

"Noster Eagle-Eye?" she affirmed with a touch of amusement.

"I know it may seem like an odd choice, but he has more than earned his name, my Jarl," Falk assured. "He was a scout in the Imperial Legion during the Great War, and although he is aged, his eyes are still as sharp as ever. Did you know that the reason he was recruited as a scout was because he once was a stoneworker who could spot a quarrying sight from half a mile away? His vision goes far and he was particularly useful during the War at spotting enemy movements and identifying enemy scouts. He is exactly the type of skilled surveyor that you will need."

Elisif shook her head. "No, I did not know that, Falk. But if you trust him, then I trust him. He is one of the city beggars, yes? Then if he is qualified, I can think of no better candidate to award this job to. It would soothe my heart to know that we are taking one of the beggars off the streets."

"Yes, my Jarl. Thank you. He will not disappoint."

"I expect not. Once the mill is in motion, make sure that Noster is given suitable food and clothing, and set him to work finding high-quality stone. When the trees begin to fall, I want another list of suitable workers for Haafingar's new stone quarry. The quarry can enlarge in step with the lumber mill as it makes its own progress."

"Very wise, my Jarl. As we make progress I shall keep you updated."

"Good, good…" Elisif trailed off. "Oh, and do not forget to compose letters to both Hjaalmarch and the Reach to let them know of our progress. They are desperate for these materials, and we do not want a lack of communication, even while we are getting ready, to encourage them to find help elsewhere. We need the Reach's silver, and the support of the Silver-Blood brothers to be successful. The same goes for Sorli the Builder: she comes from a line of miners, and will likely expect punctual and honest labor from us. If we fail to meet their expectations, we might not get another chance to form relations again so soon."

Bryling flashed her a quick smile. "Already done, my Jarl, by Falk and myself. The letters were passed into the hands of a courier earlier today, and are on their way to arrive soon. I have worked with Sorli before, so I hope you do not mind that I have taken those liberties."

"I appreciate your initiative, Thane." She nodded at Falk. "And you, my Steward."

All in the court nodded, and many shuffled in anticipation to be dismissed from court to tend to their new tasks.

"One thing, Jarl," Sybille Stentor interjected, and it gave each member of the court pause. Sybille very rarely spoke in court at all, and when she did, it was often to Falk: rarely to Elisif.

"Yes, Sybille?"

The court mage retrieved the piece of paper she composed earlier and held it out in front of her like it had an odor that befouled her sense of smell. Elisif's concerns about Sybille's willingness to do as she was bid had been realized.

"As for your request to take on Joric as a student…"

"It is a request," Elisif said lightly, although her eyes were focused on her mage. "But it can be an order, if you do not oblige."

At this, the haughty Breton balked. "Surely you know that I have no time or patience to take on students! If the boy must learn, then send him to the College of Winterhold."

Falk, Bolgeir, and Bryling all seemed to frown at once, the air in the court room thickening with dispute.

"Sybille," Falk murmured in a warning, "exercise some caution and restraint. This is our Jarl that you are speaking to."

The mage shot him a nasty look, completely ignoring his warning and the looks of disapproval from the other members of court. Elisif held her ground.

"That 'boy' is the son of one of our esteemed guests and one of my finest advisors," Elisif leveled. "He is ten. He is far too young to be shipped off to the College of Winterhold away from his family, and it would do him good to have something to occupy his time while he remains here, in what is essentially a prison for him and his family. You also know very well that Winterhold was one of Ulfric's first supporters."

"The College is entirely separate from the Hold," Sybille countered.

"And yet his journey there would not be. Do you not see the danger there?"

"How do you expect me to keep Haafingar warded from magical threats while also mollycoddling a ten year old?"

"I have no doubt that you will excel at both," Elisif said firmly. "Save for the Potema incident" - Sybille flushed angrily at the mention of that particular failing of hers - "you have served me, my husband, and his father before him admirably. Instead of looking at this as a burden, see it as a gift: Joric comes from one of the oldest bloodlines in Skyrim, and it is one steeped in magic. Currently, he is at the Temple of the Divines being treated for the sickness that his visions cause him. Idgrod Ravencrone assures me that he will be a finer seer than her someday, and that he is touched by the Divines. No doubt he will make a powerful apprentice in time, and with your extraordinary guidance, he may yet learn to control his gift, overcome his sickness, and become a mage the likes of which Skyrim has never seen. I am entrusting you with this, and it would all be to your credit."

Sybille paused. She hated to lose face to her new wisp of a Jarl, but her intrigue overcome her irritation. "He has the gift of sight, did you say?" she asked.

Elisif gave her a winsome smile. "And I believe more. What finer apprentice for Skyrim's most talented court mage?"

Although Sybille was a prickly creature, she was not invulnerable to flattery when properly used in conversation. Her body stiffed as she weighed her Jarl's words, and eventually, a small, fiendish smile curled her lips.

"So you say," Sybille said softly, her voice as smooth as silk. "I look forward to meeting this young man, then. He will begin under my instruction starting tomorrow, if the healers can get him back on his feet by then. I will also monitor his health as well."

"Wonderful," Elisif rejoiced, and she could already envision the look of pure joy on Idgrod the Younger's face, knowing that her brother was in good hands.

Elisif leaned further back in her throne, still sitting upright but in a far more relaxed position. She felt a small sense of peace as she looked out over her court: her Thane Bryling, loyal and eager to serve; her Steward Falk, capable and her closest friend; Thane Erikur, muted and brought to heel; Sybille, finally reaching an understanding with her sovereign; and Bolgeir, doing his best to keep his face emotionless when all he wanted to do was smile at his Lady's victories. For a moment, Elisif felt as if she had gained control of her court, and that perhaps her future was brighter than she had even felt the previous night, while she was wallowing in her cups.

From the lower level, Elisif heard the slamming of doors and the chorus of many heavy footfalls echoing in chorus. Frowning, she turned to Falk, "I thought court was closed for today."

Bewildered, Falk answered, "It is. I informed the guards an hour ago."

When the sojourners reached the top of the stairs, Elisif's hands - usually so formally placed in her lap - migrated to the ends of the armrests on her throne, and she squeezed them tightly.

"Officer Istar," she managed as politely as she could, even though her heart had begun to race.

Istar Cairn-Breaker was the first to approach the double-edged platform, and behind him were at least a dozen Stormcloak soldiers.

"I apologize, sirs," Elisif continued, "but I am afraid that court is closed for today. My courtiers and I are convening on internal affairs. If you have any grievances or require council, I would be more than happy to—"

"Jarl Elisif," Istar interrupted coldly. "We need you to come with us."

Her heart was now pumping ice through her veins, and the hairs on her arms stood up.

Coughing delicately, Elisif responded, "Forgive me, Officer, but I do not understand?"

Istar held out his hand to a nearby soldier, who handed him a letter - and she just barely made out the sigil of a bear's head.

"I think you do understand, Jarl." Istar cleared his throat, and each many behind him stood at attention. "Jarl Elisif, you have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people, what say you in your defense?"

At this, her court erupted in a storm of shouting, and all present rose to their feet.

"Crimes?" she blurted out, thunderstruck. "What crimes?"

"On suspicion of conspiracy." Istar held up the paper to her, and many cried out in disbelief as he announced the charges. He ignored them and continued ominously. "My spies feed me reports that you have been very busy of late, Jarl. My understanding is that couriers are sending messages rapidly between your Hold and that of the Reach and Hjaalmarch. There are rumors that you are planning to send money and strong young men and women into the mountains, into uncharted land. Galmar Stone-Fist is very concerned that you are using your money and influence to buy the Jarls' alliance and turn them against him."

Elisif's headache returned with a fury, and she stood from her throne.

"Istar," she pleaded, "this is all just a big misunderstanding. What's more, you have no proof! You cannot arrest someone on _suspicion _of something. If you would listen to me I could explain—"

"I warned you that you we were watching you, Elisif. You should have listened. You can explain in the city dungeon," Istar cut her off once more. "And I have been given the authority to arrest whomever I wish in the interest of keeping the peace. Ulfric has granted me the right of enacting martial law at my discretion."

"You're _arresting_ me?" she demanded shrilly, her voice growing more and more hysterical as the situation became more and more preposterous.

"I am, Jarl. I am here to escort you to the prisons of Castle Dour."

The court exploded once again, and many in the room reached for their arms. The Stormcloaks reached for their own weapons in turn, and shouting filled the air. Panicked, Elisif recalled the last time Istar was in this room, facing down her loyal supporters, and she tried to shield them by holding out her arms and keeping them back.

"Stand down!" she shouted to her court. She looked back pleadingly at the Stormcloak Officer, appealing, "Istar, please, this is absolutely ridicu—"

Istar slapped Elisif across the face so hard that the sound rang out clear across the courtroom. The sound cut throat all others and for a moment, it was so silent that Elisif could only hear the ringing in her ears as she wobbled to the side from the force of the blow, jaw open wide at the hinges and tears prickling in her eyes as a hand-shaped welt rose to her cheek.

Then, like the calm before the storm, all hell broke loose in the Blue Palace as her courtiers began shouting.

"That is the Jarl you are laying your hands on!" Falk snarled, and he was immediately accosted by the Stormcloaks who flew into action as soon as their commanding officer struck. Falk struggled and shouted between two Stormcloak soldiers, but he was soon drowned out by the merciless roar of her housecarl. It took four guardsmen to hold him down.

"I will kill you, you Stormcloak dog!" Bolgeir howled, his face red and the muscles and veins in his neck bulging. He tore at the men grabbing at his limbs and muscled in several worthy blows, until they knocked his legs out from under him and piled atop of him, securing his thrashing arms. His face was crushed into the stone floor, and all he could do was spit curses at them.

Elisif could scarcely breathe due to the force of the blow, and a hand unconsciously reached to touch her face. She could feel each welt rising to the surface from Istar's individual fingers. Mouth still open wide, she disbelievingly looked her new Captain of the Guard past the stars erupting behind her eyes.

"Jarl or city beggar, it makes no difference to the Captain of the Guard to keep the peace, right Elisif?" he sneered. "In my custody, you are no Jarl - merely a prisoner, until we get the truth."

"I can give you the truth," Elisif whispered, tears streaking down her face, "It's not what you think."

Istar stared down at her predatorily. "We shall see. Seize her."

Two Stormcloaks approached her, and she didn't have the strength to fight them. Still stunned from the blow, when they grabbed her by the arms, she collapsed into their grasp. They hauled her to her feet, guiding her down the stairs.

"Please don't struggle, Jarl," one of them mumbled under their breath to her, sounding almost sympathetic. "We don't want to hurt you."

Her court was restrained by the remaining troops, and she heard Bryling, Bolgeir, and Falk shouting after her. Bolgeir, when angered, had a mighty voice, and even pressed against the floor she could hear his death threats follow her down the stairs and into the street.

"To Castle Dour, men," Istar commanded. "The rest of you, settle this rowdy lot, and then return to your posts."

"Please don't hurt them," Elisif breathed as she was dragged, still too winded to speak above a whisper. "_Please_."

Istar snorted. "Worry about yourself, Jarl."

They trudged up the long avenue leading to Castle Dour, and as she approached the imposing tower, she suddenly felt the strength come back to her limbs and viciously writhed and pulled at her captor's grasp.

"No!" she cried. _This is where Tullius was executed! _"Not here! Anywhere but here!"

Her attempts were feeble in the rough hands of the soldiers, however, and the guards simply readjusted their grip on her arms and continued on with hardly a pause. They led her down the spiraling catwalk to a cell in the belly of the dungeons, which Istar commanded Ahtar to open. He gave her a push between the shoulder blades to force her into the cell with a cry, where she fell upon the stone floor with hay scattered on the stones.

She heard the creak of the iron door as it closed behind her, and she could swear that Istar's voice sounded like he was having fun.

"Welcome to the Castle Dour Dungeons, Elisif the Fair."

—

A/N: Cliffhanger! The next chapter will be from Ulfric's perspective.

As always, I look forward to hearing your feedback, and appreciate each and every last review, favorite, and follow! I would like to take a moment to appreciate those of you - you know who we are, we chat frequently ;) - who review nearly every chapter, and have been following the story for a bit. I love you guys to bits, and your support means so much to me!

For any new readers, please do not feel shy to jump in at any time - I always enjoy seeing new faces and hearing from new perspectives. :)

Also, quick question - my chapters tend to be around 6000+ words each. Are my updates coming out too fast? I do not want to inundate you guys. Let me know what makes you comfortable. Reading this story should hopefully be fun, not a chore to carry out every few days. Just let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

_Ulfric was eight years old when a monk approached the throne of his father. He had been learning how to handle a sword - a wooden one - in the courtyard with a young man named Galmar Stone-Fist, who was chosen to be the heir of Windhelm's housecarl from a young age. The two wrestled and trained together, although Galmar - many years his senior - was always a friend and a teacher. He was the older brother that Ulfric never had, and the bond of their friendship was strong, even at a young age._

_"Your presence is required in the throne room, young lord," a servant beckoned him, and Galmar followed, never far behind his young charge._

_That was when Ulfric met Arngeir for the first time, and explained that Ulfric was strongly gifted by the goddess Kynareth, and had the potential to become a Greybeard himself one day._

_Their meeting was short, and Arngeir was offered a guest's quarters as Ulfric's family was given time to think on the decision and prepare their son for the journey to High Hrothgar. Ulfric's father was unable to deny his son to the ancient order of monks, even though he was his father's only heir to the throne of Windhelm, and his mother had passed away two years ago, unable to conceive more children throughout their marriage. Everyone kept telling Ulfric what a "tremendous honor" it was to be selected by the Greybeards to train with them, even his father._

_Ulfric admired his father greatly and agreed with whatever he said, but privately all he knew was that this was going to force him to leave his home, his father, and his friend Galmar behind. Nevertheless, in a week he was packed up and journeyed to the monastery with his new mentor._

_Although Ulfric's father was greatly pained and disappointed to let his only son go, he was comforted in the fact that his son was to join the Greybeards, an order that was greatly revered throughout the ages since the time of Jurgen Windcaller. If Ulfric had known in advance that he would have been unable to resist the call to battle during the Great War, he would have refused Arngeir in the first place to save his father a second great loss. _

_When Ulfric returned home to collect weapons and a set of armor, his father was enraged and embarrassed at his son's desertion. He was eighteen, and it had been ten years since he had laid eyes on his father, but their meeting had been a firestorm of an argument, one where Ulfric stormed out with Galmar to join the Imperial Legion._

_That was the last time that he ever spoke with his father._

_Between the resolution of the war and his personal rebellion, Ulfric and the Great Bear of Eastmarch did not have the time to rekindle their relationship. When he was captured during the Markarth Incident and heard that his father had died, he realized that he would carry with himself a lifetime of regrets._

It was snowing in the city of Windhelm.

In the essence of fairness, it was always snowing – always. Even when the sun stretched over rising dawn, the warmth never did quite manage to shake the chill free from the earth. It was never particularly sunny, either; a mottled cloak of clouds swathed the light and muted the faces of the sun that looked over Windhelm as a dull specter, casting the city in a numbing grey most days of the year.

Unlike the other Holds, the walls and streets of Windhelm were comprised of a hard, black stone, and when winter fell, the city showed its colors in black and white. The steward had a host of masons and workers on payroll to keep the city intact, well-kept, and scraped of snow and ice, but none of that snow ever truly melted – and it was impossible to keep all the streets completely cleared and salted when the snow simply refused to stop falling.

Some flakes from the dusting of powder clung to the edges of Ulfric's cloak as it swished to accommodate his gait. His pace was measured and his posture was authoritative, but his eyes were squinted as he sought his way.

Even with the sun turning its gaze from his city, the glare off the snow was intense, and when the grey light fell over the city, it was difficult to see the dips in the stone and snow, making it easy to fall. Down on the ground, the breaks in the snow coverage whispered to him that there was life in the stone, and that the world existed beneath the chill. It was hard to imagine that world sometimes when he looked out of his windows at the Palace of Kings and saw nothing but rolling plains of white; the snow and ice crushed the wild to submit under its weight and struck out at interlopers with penetrating gales and fierce winds that tore the limbs off trees.

Any native of Skyrim boasted of his toughness in taming her wild lands, but it was only those who were the sons of Eastmarch that could truly say they thrived in the chill. Ulfric felt that this was the bosom of Skyrim, much like their ancient homeland of Atmora – unlike the cushier lands out west, where the Jarls drank pleasant southern wines and felt the balm of the sun warm their faces throughout the year. This was a hard and a cruel land, and it knew the harsh truths of the world: it was an appropriate place for a king, especially a High King. Solitude had long held the seat of High King, but Ulfric believed that it was a hard land that made for a hard ruler. To him, Windhelm - the throne of the ancient kings - was the only place where a ruler had to constantly test his mettle: to grow soft in a place like Windhelm would mean certain death, and so all those who came before him had been tough men and women, the likes of which were worthy of sitting upon a throne. Windhelm shaped its men and women into enduring, resourceful, and hardy folk, and its rulers matched the toughness of the Nord kings of old.

The people looked to him and smiled as he passed on the same streets his subjects did, and he did his best to return their affections. As of late, he had been almost solely confined to Ysgramor's ancient palace, devoting his waking hours – and sometimes his sleeping ones – to the matters that required his attention. Although he was a busy man, he chastised himself for not spending more times in the city itself; the people, after all, had won him the war, and they deserved to see that he cared enough to walk among them rather than sitting on a cushy throne. His father had taught him such long ago.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the grey and white, having grown too used to the candlelight of the castle, and he blinked away the bleariness that temporarily clouded his vision.

It had been too long since he'd seen his city and too long since he'd visited the crypt, although those were the people who would always wait.

Down the landing from where the walls opened to the palace was the Stone Quarter, stymied off into either direction with long, winding staircases. Ulfric took the one on the right, a long, narrow descent which could easily make a man lose his footing and join the tombstones near the cemetery. Before the cemetery was a large, heavy-handled door made of brass, sealing away the buried into the Hall of the Dead.

Death in Windhelm had some mystery to it. The cold slowed the decaying process, and oftentimes bodies could be preserved almost indefinitely – as if they refused to die and completely leave the world. In a Hold where nothing truly lived, then what could truly die?

With those thoughts, Ulfric placed his hand on the door – the chill sinking through his gloves and into his fingers – and entered the darkness.

The scent of the Hall of the Dead always made him a little nauseous; the catacombs were dry and musty, the smell of ancient decay fighting with the scents of various perfumes, oils, and fluids used in rites and preservation. There was a distinct, sickly sweet smell that wrinkled his nose, but he paid it little mind. Each Hall of the Dead was cold, but because Ulfric was out of the wind, it soon felt warmer to his senses – and the dark took the strain off his eyes as he adjusted to the candles that seemed to float from their perches. He shook the snow from his hair and followed the trail of lights father down.

Unless they specified otherwise or had their own cemetery plots, the dead of Eastmarch always had a place in the Hall of the Dead. There were family lines that went back ages and generations, honeycombing the tunnels that stretched under the city. The honored dead could be visited by anyone at any point in time, but it was almost always quiet and near-empty.

As he ventured deeper into the Hall, the silence was gradually dispelled by inane palavering.

Ulfric smiled.

Following the bounce of the old crone's voice off the walls, Ulfric sought out Helgird – prostrated in front of the Arkay shrine. For an old woman who appeared half-addled, her senses were remarkably sharp; at the sound of boots on the stone floor, she drew herself up.

"Milord," she greeted. Although priests and priestesses were mere men, they were removed from the sort of circles that impressed social decorum on normal folk. Instead of a curtsey or a bow, she merely inclined her head and brusquely inquired, "Here to see the tomb?"

Ulfric nodded, and Helgird removed a torch from the wall, using it to lead him deeper into the tomb. The flames flickered and danced, creating whimsical shadows from unseen objects upon the walls in a nonsensical puppet show.

They passed many alcoves of lit candles hovering over urns and coffins where the bodies of his fallen Stormcloak brothers rested. The Imperials liked to burn the dead in their own fashion, but Ulfric demanded his men retrieve any and all slain soldiers in the civil war from the battlefield to be brought home to their native Holds - many of which were from Eastmarch - where they could be laid to rest in Nord custom. For those who had given their lives in fraternity with him and his cause, no measures were too extravagant or inconvenient to ease their passing; they were buried as heroes in the deep underground catacombs of his city. The comfort of that thought only took the edge off of the burden it placed on his mind, as despite their graveside laurels, they were all still men he had lost. The walls of flickering candles that illuminated their coffins and urns reminded him, yet again, of the price of freedom that he had paid to liberate Skyrim, and the ensuing toll it would exact in the coming war with the Thalmor. Those thoughts troubled him deeply, and he tried to keep his eyes forward with every step.

The chill of the tomb increased as they drew nearer to the halls where the former Jarls of Windhelm slept. Ulfric freed a torch for himself, familiar with these portions of the catacombs, and he drew himself near a twin pair of coffins, where a Jarl and his wife were seated in stone upon chiseled thrones.

Helgird nattered away, as was her custom. Ulfric didn't mind; it filled the silence as he stared at the stonework. At some point in his thinking, however, he interrupted her.

"How did my father die, Helgird?"

Helgird paused with a sharp intake of breath, which she let go slowly into a sigh. It was as she expected: it was the same question that Ulfric asked every time he visited his father's tomb. She didn't know why he always asked the question, as the answer remained the same; perhaps the Jarl simply liked the knife twisted in deeper each time for his perceived faults.

Dutifully, with an oft-repeated ring, the priestess said, "No one is sure how your lord father died, child."

"But you examined the body, priestess, before laying him to rest. Surely there is something you must have seen. Perhaps there is something more you remember."

Helgird drew closer to the Jarl of Windhelm's side, holding up her torch with his so that the flames passed over his father's carved face.

"In this war, I have seen the bodies of countless dead. When I prepare them for the grave, their bodies can tell me a short story of their lives and an indication of how they died. I have seen evidence of sickness, of lacerations, of exsanguination, and all deaths quick and clean or slow and excruciating. Your father's death was not like these men - he was much older, and carried a greater burden. One day he simply fell asleep and did not rise the next morning."

"You once told me his body showed great sign of strain."

"Well, yes…. but considering that the Empire was waging a war, and his only son was fighting in it, it is easy to see how such stress might have contributed to his condition. And then when the Thalmor took possession of you again in Markarth…"

"Are you saying I killed my father by being captured?" Ulfric asked.

Helgird looked him frankly in the eye, without the caution that most common folk would exhibit, "I'm saying that an age where sons bury their fathers is an age that is just, my Jarl. Not like the other way around - not like now, where fathers send their sons off to war and they never return to them in this life. There are worse things."

Ulfric considered her words, and conceded on that point. He started this war and he finished it. He did not regret that. What he did regret is that it took so much bloodshed to make it so. As much as he lamented the losses incurred, he could not imagine how a priestess to the god-shepherd of dead souls reconciled with all the bodies that were sent her way, as it was her who washed their bodies, dressed them in their death shrouds, and sent them on their way to the next life. She tended to them as dutifully as she had to his own parents; each person who came to her was equally important in her eyes.

Ulfric pressed on. "If he died in his sleep, do you think he found his way into the halls of Sovngarde, then?"

"Well, you father was a great warrior in his time. He earned his name, 'The Great Bear' for his skill in battle, not his table manners. He may have died on his sickbed, but his housecarl handed him his axe before the passing." She paused. "I have no doubt that your father proved himself to Tsun and is with his forefathers in the halls of Shor's warriors."

It filled Ulfric with a sense of peace that his father and mother laid beside one another in death, and that their likenesses were impressed upon the stone by skilled masons, their marble effigies seated beside one another. It filled him with great bitterness, however, that he was not the one to oversee the task himself, having been imprisoned and only able to deliver his father's eulogy by a letter he smuggled out of Markarth. The stonemason that carved their figures knew their faces well, however, and Ulfric couldn't say that he didn't do an accurate job. His father's likeness was bearded and coarse; his mother was an image of loveliness, soft features and a kind expression, even through the cold of the stone.

"And my mother?"

Helgird had little contact with people - the living, anyways. She placed sprigs of snowberry in his father's lap. This question seemed to puzzle her. "Milord?" she asked.

"I asked about my mother." Ulfric cupped the stone's cheek, his thumb stroking over its cold smoothness. In this tomb she looked no older than the last day he saw her - the day that the fever took her from the world, back when he was a young boy who hadn't yet answered the call of the Greybeards. "Do you think she is with my father in the afterlife?"

Helgird's hesitation dragged onto into a silence. Stiffly, Ulfric turned to her, feeling her shrinking away from the question and challenging her to answer it.

"Well?" he demanded, brooking no room for retreat.

Helgird's old and weathered face furrowed into a frown, before she released a surrendering huff. "Your noble mother was no warrior, my lord," she said simply.

Ulfric turned from the priestess and took a hard look at his mother's face, immortalized in stone. Although his lady mother was no warrior, those words didn't quite chill him to the bone, as he knew a secret that she didn't: his father taught her how to fight with a sword so that she might find her way before Shor's hall and give Tsun such a surprise that they would be able to spend the afterlife together in Sovngarde. Such was the magnitude of their love, and their devotion to each other. Although nothing was certain, and he would only know for sure when he joined his ancestors in the afterlife, he hoped that one day he would be greeted by both of his parents in Sovngarde, and that his father would look upon him with pride.

"You still mourn them deeply, Jarl Ulfric," Helgird observed.

Ulfric closed his eyes, trying to remember their faces in flesh, rather than stone.

"As does any son who loses their parents too soon. Throughout the war, I looked for guidance wherever I could find it: from Talos, from my parents, and from my memories of the Skyrim that once existed, and could exist again. Perhaps my heart will be at peace when I find myself worthy of the throne of my father, and the throne of Ysgramor."

"Do you think you haven't, Jarl? The people rejoice in your victory."

"All my life, I have been running away from my responsibilities," Ulfric said simply. "At least, that's what my father told me: when I ran away from the Greybeards to join the war and when I ran away from the throne he was aging upon to start a rebellion. In the end, all I hope is that he will have the forgiveness to watch over me and give me guidance, so that I can uphold his memory in honor and rule in a way that will finally make him proud."

—

Ulfric spent the morning paying his respects to his ancestors and brothers in arms in the Hall of the Dead, before consulting Talos in his temple for greater guidance. He missed Jora, the priestess there, and hoped she was fairing well in Solitude. Although he was often reticent to share his private thoughts, wishes, and deepest fears with her out loud - as Windhelm's confidence had teetered since his father's death, and it wouldn't help for him to show weakness to anyone, even a priestess - she would often simply sit beside him on the benches in silence and offer wisdom in intervals, oftentimes her words striking very close to the mark. He missed that about her; the Temple wasn't the same in her absence, and he was eager for the day that she might return. It was with a heavy heart that he initiated her journey to Solitude, but he knew that the high priest and priestess there scoffed at Talos's godhood, and if anyone could inspire the fierce love of their hero-god, it was the sharp-tongued Jora.

_Her return depends on Solitude, I suppose, _he thought, and his expression darkened. He rose from the bench in the Temple of Talos and inclined his head politely to the other supplicants in the room.

The dim lighting upon the stone of the main hall of the Palace of Kings was welcome compared to the grey veil hanging over Windhelm outside. His guards hailed him upon his return, and he acknowledged their greeting with a nod of the head. The banners at the end of the massive hallway were embroidered with the sigil of the bear, after his father, and hung right above the throne. It felt as if all the stones of this ancient castle were watching him, and he hoped to add to its honorable history.

"Ahh, Ulfric. Out for a stroll?"

Ulfric's eyes focused on the source of the noise, and he greeted its owner with a grin and a clap on the shoulder.

"Galmar," he praised, "Vigilant as always."

"I may be general of your armies, but I am still your housecarl, first and foremost," Galmar reminded him.

"You think a future High King shouldn't walk amongst his people?" Ulfric questioned.

"I think that a future High King should _especially _walk amongst his people," he emphasized, returning the clap on his shoulder with his own. "It does the people good to see their leader - you know that. Only when it doesn't interfere with this gods-damned paperwork we have piling up in our conference room."

"Forgive me, old friend," Ulfric chuckled. "I was up all night with stationary. I needed to see the light of day. If I had known that being High King meant so much paperwork, perhaps I would have just let Torygg keep the damned crown," he joked.

"We're soldiers, Ulfric. It is not in our nature. We wield swords and axes, not quills."

"It is necessary, unfortunately," he lamented. "But I suppose that my break is at an end. Tell me, how goes the training and recruitment, Galmar?"

With a hand on Galmar's shoulder, the two amicably made their way to the room where they used to hold their war council. The map on the giant table in the center had been moved to one of the walls, each Hold now pinned with blue flags: it was a trophy of sorts that reminded them of their victory. The table the map used to occupy was now surrounded by chairs, and stacked with letters both finished and half-completed, as well as correspondence from other Holds coming in every day. Ulfric swore that the couriers would become the next lords of Skyrim if they weren't careful, for they were certainly facing even greater employment now as Ulfric was beginning to assume his duties as High King, the official title notwithstanding. Most High Kings of Skyrim honored tradition and allowed the other Holds to live in autonomy, but with a war against the elves somewhere on the horizon, Ulfric needed to centralize his power like few other High Kings in history had before in order to strengthen his country as a whole. Fortunately, all the current Jarls supported him, and even if they didn't like him looking over their shoulders, he had armies in every city to ensure that his will was carried out.

Both Ulfric and Galmar tended to think better on their feet, but that was with war; as soldiers, they both took a seat at the table to brace themselves for the paperwork that was inevitable.

"We are finding able-bodied recruits in every Hold, Ulfric," Galmar answered, grunting as his backside hit the low chair. "Save for Haafingar, of course."

Ulfric relaxed as casually into the chair as he did in his throne, and he rubbed his fingers together thoughtfully as he considered this. "I imagine Elisif and her court are desperately drowning in the demands we gave her," he shrugged, unconcerned. "I do not expect her to succeed in finding the same number of recruits as the other major Holds, considering Haafingar's longstanding ties to the Empire. I'm not worried about Haafingar supplying all of their own troops. Still, we need enough men to replenish and strengthen our fighting force, in case the Empire sends some skirmish parties to test the strength of our determination. If Haafingar fails to conscript enough men, we need to have a force in the event that the Empire attempts to take back Solitude."

Galmar shifted through a stack of papers beside him and cackled, laughing from deep within his belly. "I would agree with you on that point, but the Empire might be a bit more preoccupied with internal matters. I imagine every nobleman in Cyrodiil with even the most marginal relation to Titus Mede II is championing his right to succeed the poor, assassinated Emperor right now. Imperial successions have a nasty history to them; I doubt Skyrim is high on their list of priorities at this current time, and it might take some time for the in-fighting to subside long enough for them to consider issues abroad. I'd say we've earned a reprieve on that front, and for that I would like to buy the man or woman who killed that damned Emperor several drinks."

Ulfric's brow furrowed. "The assassination of the Titus Mede may be fortunate in timing for us, Galmar," he chastened, peering over the desk in greater seriousness than his comrade, "but if the Dark Brotherhood can kill an emperor, it means that they can certainly kill me - and I have many enemies. I would be a bit more concerned if I were you."

"Are you talking about Elisif?" Galmar asked, incredulously.

Ulfric thought for a moment before shrugging once more nonchalantly. "No…" he thought aloud. "Putting aside her hatred for me in her oaths of fealty was certainly a lie, as I have no doubt she still harbors a grudge. However, I think our sanctions against her have frightened her enough so that she is not a threat. She has no power in her own court, and those that do are divided amongst themselves. My enemies could live secretly here, or far afield in other lands - and Solitude will be the city they aim to reclaim."

"I'm keeping my boot on Elisif's throat and pressing down as often as I can," Galmar rumbled, and to emphasize his point, he squeezed a fist tightly as if wringing the neck of a bird, "and I am not the type of man who will relinquish that pressure. Even if our enemies do try to penetrate Solitude's defenses and manipulate it for their own ends, she will be too weak to be another puppet - and our spies in the city and within her court have their eyes and ears open to anything and everything."

Ulfric stroked his beard, thinking of the simpering Lady Elisif in the golden city of Solitude. The last time he saw her was the day of the Battle for Solitude, when she quaked with fear as she swore fealty to him. He never bore a grudge against her; he never wanted her death. She was like a songbird without talons, beautiful to look at but never dangerous; he preferred her in a gilded cage rather than with a wrung neck, as Galmar once suggested.

Even though Galmar had long since abandoned the Legion, he was solely a soldier at heart: seek and destroy was his sole prerogative as a strategy to confronting his problems. If it were up to him, all the Jarls that backed the Empire during the war would be dead.

Ulfric, on the other hand, had other things to think about: he was a Jarl seeking to be High King, and he had to calculate each of his moves for an intended effect, ones that would look favorable to him in order to succeed. All of Skyrim knew his strength as a warrior, but that didn't mean he enjoyed killing everything and everyone that stood in his way; displacing the Jarls and leaving them in disgrace was a more powerful message than any other he could think of.

"Elisif is the least of our problems, Galmar," Ulfric repeated. "I specifically gave her those list of impossible demands to keep her so occupied that you need not waste any energy on her, but here you are, throwing away precious spies and resources monitoring her every movement. Focus your worthy energy on our defenses and armies instead."

"I understand your feelings, Ulfric. I am not forsaking my other responsibilities in order to keep the throne of Solitude in line. Nevertheless, I will keep applying pressure to the Jarl of Haafingar. As your housecarl and general, it is my job to manage your armies and identify any and all threats that could harm you. You may not believe Elisif is a threat, and perhaps she isn't currently, but if there's even the slightest chance that she might be some day, it is my job to crush her. As I have ever cautioned you," Galmar reminded, in words he had heard all his life, "don't be so sure of yourself."

Galmar retrieved a specific stack of papers and shoved them across the heavy wooden table toward his Jarl.

"To prove my point: here, Jarl. Recent news from Haafingar."

Curious, Ulfric sifted through the papers and glanced at their contents. When he was finished, he tossed them back to the table.

"So? What of it?"

"Did you even read the other letters?" Galmar sighed heavily. "One of my finest officers, Istar Cairn-Breaker, is keeping a close eye on her and sends me frequent reports of his own observations and that of his personal spies. You think that she is powerless and that her court is divided, but in the past few weeks she has shown a remarkable change in her rule. Her court is rallying behind her, and she is forming friendships with neighboring Holds, making new businesses and intending to establish trade routes with them to rebuild."

"So, she is finally learning how to manage a Hold," Ulfric rolled his eyes. "Gods help her, it is about time. When I need Skyrim to finally unite against the Thalmor, a resourceful Solitude will benefit Skyrim as a whole."

"And what if she decides to use her wealth and connections to turn those Jarls against you?" Galmar grumbled, annoyed that his Jarl was not taking her nearly as seriously as he did.

Ulfric stroked his beard thoughtfully once again, but still dismissed the notion.

"It will not happen," Ulfric insisted. "The Silver-Bloods are old friends and comrades of mine from the Forsworn uprising after the Great War. They will not stray, especially not now that they hold all the strings of wealth and political power in the Reach. As for Sorli the Builder, she went from a miner to a Jarl in one battle - she has far surpassed her station than most people can ever hope for in one lifetime, and it is all thanks to my authority."

"Perhaps for now. But what happens in a month? Two months? Six months? A year? Two years?" Galmar asked. "Who is to say that they will not fatten themselves on Solitude's coin and raw resources, and begin to suckle at the teat of Haafingar in lieu of continuing their loyalty to you? That damned girl was raised in Cyrodiil, Ulfric! It could become another war to purge the Jarls whose interests have shifted."

"Or, her resources could benefit all of Skyrim."

Ulfric rubbed his fingers together again, and stared out the window of the council room as his friend neglected to answer. His city lay beneath him, and beyond that, the great expanse of the white plains. His brow lowered heavily over his eyes, and his lips pressed together.

"Galmar," he asked flatly, his eyes still to the window, "what have you done?"

Galmar's face tightened into a mask of harsh seriousness, although the corners of his eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

"Merely pressing the boot down a little bit harder," he said snidely.

Ulfric closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

"Galmar, I am not in the mood."

"Fine, Ulfric. I send a warrant for her arrest bearing Windhelm's seal to our Officer there to arrest her and bring her to her own dungeons. I don't want her to get too comfortable in her new power and authority. It has been some time since our troops have given her a hard time, and she needed a reminder of that we are always watching."

"You sent her to Castle Dour?" Ulfric's eyes narrowed, annoyed. He demanded so incredulously that his voice echoed off the stones of the walls, "On what charges?"

"We have enough intelligence to bring her in on suspicion of conspiracy alone," Galmar pounded that same clenched fist on the table. "She'll be there long enough to give my men time to adequately comb through her records, letters, and correspondences to ensure there is no sinister undertone to her new political moves. A lot of correspondence is moving between her Hold and her neighbors, and we have to be sure that it is all legitimate in business, especially since they are starting high up in the mountains and could hide a lot of men there. It should also give us enough time to scare her into being a compliant little puppet once more. I need to check her growth before she feels too big for her throne, which could lead to some complications for us down the line."

The muscles in Ulfric's jaw jumped, and the scar on his face rippled with displeasure. "I never knew you were a sadist, Galmar."

"This has nothing to do with that!"

"You are spending an awful lot of time on Torygg's widow," Ulfric accused. "She swore fealty to me, and with my army in her city, in their homes, and in her palace, she will continue to uphold those vows of loyalty. Until you have something tangible, your efforts are better spent elsewhere."

"They are, Ulfric. My energies are focused everywhere. But do you think that just because the war is over and she swore fealty at knifepoint that she will not act in her own interests? Elisif just happens to be one little bird I'm keeping my eye on in case I need to pluck her flight feathers. Or perhaps the more apt analogy: she married to the throne of Solitude, the throne of the wolf, and wolves mate for life. You and I both know the wrath of a woman scorned, and the loss of her husband will not readily abate in her mind."

"Do not let Elisif linger long in Castle Dour, Galmar. That is an order," he said sternly. "I do not approve of your actions, but since you have put this in motion without asking me first, then carry it out quickly. I want your man in Solitude to know that as well. For now, a successful Jarl is of more use to me than a jailed one. No more than a few days, Galmar."

Galmar rose from his chair and threw his hands up in the air. "Bah!" he huffed. "Ulfric, let me remind you that you put me in charge of managing the Jarls - to establish the legitimacy of the new ones, and to keep an eye on the old ones to ensure that they fall in line long enough for the Moot. If you want to take charge of this duty, then you let me know - otherwise, let me do my work for you!"

"I am not gainsaying your ability to lead and control, Galmar," Ulfric countered, firing him a look that urged him to sit down. Although they were close, both had tempers, and though they were far too old to wrestle it out like they did when they were children, the occasional argument did occur. "I am merely asking you to leave Torygg's widow be. I heard about the riot that happened many weeks ago at the speech Elisif was supposed to deliver, and I have no doubt her and her supporters think it was us. A little pressure is fine, but if you press too hard, you'll break her neck - and then all of her supporters might find cause to rise up again. I don't have the time to spare on fallout from your actions."

Galmar sat, and a growl rumbled from deep within his chest. "Hmmph." Galmar narrowed his eyes. "Your soft spot for women might unseat you one day… that is, not if I have something to say about it."

"I do _not _have a soft spot for women. I have killed women on the battlefield, and I have unseated women here in Skyrim."

"Yet you feel guilty for Jarl Elisif, because you killed her husband."

Ulfric did not have an answer for that. He did not regret killing Torygg - he did not love the act of killing, but Torygg's defeat in a challenge in the old way was a necessary step in showing Skyrim - and indeed, all of Tamriel - that it had strayed from its old ways. Torygg was a message to the Jarls and to the Empire that he was ready to challenge their authority over Skyrim and its culture, and prove that Skyrim was strong enough to rule herself.

No, Ulfric did not regret killing Torygg. But he did remember the screams of his wife as his sword pierced his heart.

"I thought as much," Galmar muttered. "Jarl, you will be High King very soon. You need as few stones in your heart as possible. What you did was right, and you have an entire country now that supports you to show for it. And here, this might change your mind as well."

Ulfric took the offered letter, and read it carefully. He frowned once more.

"This says…"

Galmar nodded. "_Exactly._"

"I suppose it is unlike the Jarl of Solitude to suddenly have such a burst of inspiration."

"_Now _you must see my concern, Ulfric." Galmar took Ulfric by the arm and gave it a slight shake. "Those Jarls that fled to the Blue Palace after you unseated them are still there, and they are acting as her advising council! They are all still there, save that boy from Falkreath!"

Ulfric tore his arm from Galmar's grasp.

"I _told _you that you should have executed Balgruuf and all the rest after the battles," Galmar hissed.

"Leave it, Galmar," Ulfric warned. "We have gone over this many times before. I do not wish to speak of this again."

"Then do not speak - listen! I told you to kill the former Jarls to eliminate them as threats! Now you have all of your enemies concentrated in one place, discussing and planning who-knows-what! You are a warrior Ulfric, and soon to be a king, and yet you _always _have hesitated to give the order for bloodshed when it was necessary. Would you have killed Torygg had I not encouraged you to follow your instincts? Would you have mustered your army to attack Whiterun had I not pressed so hard after Balgruuf returned your axe to you?"

"Remember yourself, Galmar," Ulfric warned again. "Recall that it was I who conceived of these ideas. The war has been won, and decidedly."

"I am remembering myself! I am remembering how I was always your biggest supporter and the source of your encouragement - you may have dreamed of the war, but I am the one who has always given you the push to make it a reality! I am your housecarl, charged with preventing your enemies from harming you! Yet you refused to heed my council on the matter of the deposed Jarls, and now you have all of them comfortably in the same palace as Elisif. They are advising her on ruling her Hold for now, but what happens if they decide to teach that little girl how to wage war against her enemies? Do you see _now_ what the seeds of your overconfidence has reaped?"

This Ulfric considered more deeply, despite his heating temper. He did not fear Elisif, but he was wary of each of the Jarls he unseated, despite their dishonor. They may have been softened by their love of Imperial coin, but many of them had long careers in their own Holds, and they all bore him a grudge. Even without their former resources, they were clever and experienced, which itself he recognized a resource. As long as they merely advised Elisif on matters of her own Hold, they were not a problem, but if they decided to use her to take their revenge…

Ulfric laid the letter down on the table, this time with more consideration.

He chose not to respond to Galmar's questions, sending a scorching glare to his housecarl. "Keep an eye on this situation," he ordered lowly, "but for now, just focus on checking the loyalties of Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, and the Reach. I do not have any regrets. I will bet there is nothing to find, and when you discover this, make sure she is released. The reason I did not kill or replace Elisif is because I need her, just as she is, on the throne of Solitude."

"And if not?" Galmar questioned. "Will you let me do as I will?"

Ulfric breathed out a small chuckle, dispelling some of the tension in the conference chamber. "If I know Elisif, there will be no 'if not'. Rest easy, Galmar. Leave the Widow Queen alone. And focus on getting more gods damned troops!"

—

A/N: I've been working on this chapter for a while, now. I'm not entirely sure if I am satisfied with it yet, but I'm hoping it gives you all what many of you wanted: insight into what is going on in Ulfric and Galmar's mind.

Again, my review section is an open forum - I am always interested in your thoughts, comments, questions, and concerns. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


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